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.L 


PRIVATE 

DETECTIVE 


THE MARVELOUS CAREER OF A 
NOTORIOUS CRIMINAL 


ILAlAUe'TRA'Tl^U 

BY 

Chief of Detectives JOHN D. SHEA 

OF THE CHICAGO POLICE 



CHICAGO 

laird & LEE, Publishers 








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CHIEF OF DETECTIVES JOHN D. SHEA, 
OF THE Chicago Police. 



A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


THE MARVELOUS CAREER OF A NOTORIOUS 
CRIMINAL. 


FeOM THytHART OF CHIEF OF DETECTIVES JOHH D. 
/Shea, of the Chicago Police. 


Copyright 1889 

By laird & L£B 


The Pinkerton Detective Series. Issued Monthly. By Subscription $3ioo pet 
VoL 32, Oct. 1889. Entered at Chicago PostofiBcc M 
' £ecoQd*clas8 matter. 


CHICAGO: 

Laird & Lee, Publishers 

1889 



RMILaE, ZOIaA’S 


Powerful Realistic Novels. 


FTER reading Zola’s novels it seems as if in all others, even 



in the truest there were a veil between the reader and the 
things described, and there is present to our mind the s 4 me differ- 
ence as exists between the representations of human faces on canvas 
and the reflection of the same faces in the mirror. It is like finding 
truth for the first time .” — Signor de Amicis. 


NANA. Translated from the 127th French edition. 

L’ASSOMMOIR. Translated from the 97th French edition. 

POT BOUILLE! (Piping Hot!), Translated from the 
87th French edition. 


THE LADIES’ PARADISE. Translated from the 


84th French edition, 

LA TERRE. M. Zola says of this, one of his latest works, 
"I have endeavored to deal with the French peasant in this book, 
just as I dealt with the Paris workman in “ L’Assommoir.” I have 
endeavored to write his history, to describe his manners, passions 
and sorrows in the fatal situations and circumstances in which he 
finds himself.” 

THE DREAM. Zola’s latest work — just published. 


LAIRD & LEE, PUBLISHERS. CHICAGO. 


Price, in paper covers, printed from large type on fine paper, 
cents a volume ; elegantly bound in extra silk cloth and 


Sent post-paid on receipt of price. 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE. 


CHAPTER 1. 

A BOY’S RESOLVE. 

** No DIVINITY shall shape my ends,” said George 
Roscoe, on leaving college a year or two before the 
war; “ I will carve my own destiny. I must be 
either famous or notorious. If fame comes easily, 
well and good; but, if fortune does not follow in 
her wake, farewell to fame. I would rather court 
notoriety in a velvet coat with well-lined pockets 
than be famous in a garret with industry for a gar- 
ment and hard-tack for sustenance. Fortune must 
be linked to fame, and, if the fickle jade gibes at the 
yoke, then welcome wealth with public clamor, no 
matter how aroused. ” 

This was a peculiar creed for a young man about 
to embark on the stormy sea of life, but it reflected 
the bent of his character, and presaged the battles, 
sieges and fortunes through which every one is 
bound to pass who is not encompassed with the 
triple armor of good resolutions and girt about 
with a fair degree of moral responsibility. 

George Roscoe was a fine-looking young fellow, 
tall and straight, with regular features, flashing 
dark eyes, and black, wavy hair. He was the son 
of an Eastern merchant, whose affairs were thrown 


8 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


into inextricable confusion just as George com- 
pleted his education and began to think seriously 
about the business of life. 

“ Come home, my boy,’' wrote the old gentle- 
man, after recounting the financial mishaps which 
had overtaken him. “ Something will be saved 
from the wreck, and, together, we may be able to 
right the ship and get her taut and trim again on 
the sea of prosperity. If, however, you prefer 
some other occupation, I will try and give you a 
start; but I am afraid, from the looks of things, 
that my ability in that direction will be limited. 
But come home, George, and we will talk matters 
over. ” 

George found his father weary, worn and almost 
disheartened, but struggling bravely against the 
rough tide of misfortune. The sight of the old 
gentleman’s gray hairs, anxious face and bent frame, 
strengthened his purpose of acquiring wealth by 
the easiest and readiest means at hand. 

“ If this is the end of years of honest industry,” 
he argued, “ if toiling and moiling in youth means 
carking care and ceaseless labor when old age 
creeps on with its aches and pains and trembling 
limbs and rheumatic joints, I’ll have none of it. 
I’ll consider the lilies how they grow; I’ll toil not, 
neither will I spin; but money I must have, and 
fame or notoriety must accompany the lucre. My 
exploits must be noised abroad and keep pace with 
the acquisition of wealth. ” 

So George Roscoe told his father that he would 
strike out for himself — that he had no ambition for 


A boy’s resolve 


9 

trade and commerce, and would trust to his head 
rather than his hands for fame and fortune. 

“Have you formed any definite plans? ” asked 
the old gentleman, somewhat grieved at George’s 
palpable indifference to his business complications; 
“ do you think of trying one of the learned profes- 
sions? ” 

“ Three careers are open to me,” replied George, 
whose confidence in himself was unbounded: “ the 
law, the press, the stage. I think I could succeed 
in either. The first requires assurance and a smat- 
tering of Blackstone; the second, more assurance, 
a ready pen, and keen wit; the third, still more 
assurance, plastic limbs, mobile features, colossal 
vanity, and a head devoid of ideas, but stocked with 
other men’s words. The stage shall be my last 
resort.” 

“ I hope you will never come to it, George,” said 
Mr. Roscoe, who had the old-fashioned prejudice 
against the actor’s art. “ There’s enough empty- 
headed noodles to daub their faces and play the 
fool without you adding to the number. But make 
up your mind, boy, and I will help you all I can.” 

“ My mind’s made up on one thing, father,” said 
George; “ I do not intend to be a charge on you. 
If you can spare me a few dollars, I will go West 
and branch out for myself.” 

“Well, my boy,” rejoined the old gentleman, 
with a sigh, “ do as you think best. Be temperate, 
industrious and honest, and you will succeed in 
any calling.” 


lO 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


" Never fear, father,” said George, confidently. 
“ If honesty is the best policy, I shall know it. ” 
And, having uttered this significant remark, the 
young man received $ioo and his father’s blessing, 
gathered up his belongings, and started West to 
woo fame and fortune with every artifice that inge- 
nuity rather than industry could devise. 


CHAPTER II. 

A FORTUNATE ENCOUNTER. 

Roscoe had been born in the thriving town of 
Malden, Mass. From a boy he had been wild, 
reckless and daring. None so bold in attacking 
the neighbors’ orchards as he; none so willing to 
be the ringleader in every scene of mischief and 
destruction. His college days had been marked 
with the same events, only intensified, which had 
made him an object of almost fear to the quiet citi- 
zens of his native town. So, when he made the 
declaration which we have recorded in the first 
chapter, it was with the' firm resolve in his heart to 
bring about these things that he desired, even if it 
necessitated the fall of others, the wrecking of oth- 
ers’ hopes, expectations, so long as it brought 
wealth and fame to him without the requirement of 
manual labor. 

His mind was busily engaged in thinking over 
his future as he sat in the smoking car of the train 
that was bearing him on to fortune or — what? 
Time will show. In his pocket the small wad of 


A FORTUNATE ENCOUNTER 


II 


money seemed to keep tightly to his side, as if to 
assure him that it was still there, and willing to 
serve him. Ever and anon he would feel to see if 
his start in life was still secure, and, finding the 
money ever in the same place that he had put it, he 
would breathe a slight sigh of relief and satisfac- 
tion, and, leaning back in his seat, give himself up 
to dreamy thoughts and reveries. 

He had no settled idea in his mind as to what 
he would do. His only desire was to get away 
from home and trust to “ luck,” as he termed it, 
to put him on the right path. That is, the path 
to fortune and notoriety, not truth and honor. 
He thought not of these — money. His name 
ringing throughout the land, that Was all he cared 
for. 

How many thousands there are like George 
Roscoe. 

The train sped along. An exhilarating feeling 
of wild joy permeated the young man’s being. 
He was free to do as he pleased. Daring, unre- 
tarded by the weight of an overscrupulous con- 
science, it would indeed be strange if he did not 
succeed. 

It was growing dark as the train arrived in New 
York. It was his intention to remain in the me- 
tropolis for a few days. He had never been in the 
great city, and the tale of its life of riotous dis- 
sipations, its depravity, had fascinated him. That 
was what he desired. “ Youth is the time for 
pleasure,” he had often told himself, and he had 
made up his mind to enjoy life for all there was in 


12 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


it, as well as make money. As before stated, he 
had never been in the city before, but he had pro- 
vided himself with guides and books of information, 
and so felt that he would have but little difficulty 
in finding his way about the city. 

He possessed, among other things, that one 
much-needed faculty, viz., common sense. No 
fool was George Roscoe. He knew that it would 
be best for him to appear as though acquainted 
when he arrived, for there are many who lie in 
wait for the unsophisticated, to lure them into 
dens from which they may never return, who 
would murder and rob with impunity. He had 
read much of the criminal classes and their many 
schemes, and so was prepared for anything that 
might occur. 

He brushed past the small army of anxious cab- 
men, who stood in a line before the depot, refusing 
their offer to convey him to an hotel at a reasona- 
ble charge. He knew that he must be careful of 
his money, as $ioo will not last forever; so he 
walked briskly along until he came to a street 
where the stages or busses were running in either 
direction, and, clambering into one which was go- 
ing down town, he ensconced himself into the cor- 
ner and rode along. 

He had his hotel selected, and, from the names 
of the streets, which were plainly indicated upon 
the corner of each intersecting street, on sign- 
boards, formed a fairly good idea of his where- 
abouts. 


A FORTUNATE ENCOUNTER 1 3 

He reached the hotel, had supper, and then 
started out for a stroll. 

The many sights to be seen interested him 
greatly. The crowding, hurrying throngs of way- 
farers, the brilliant lights in the store windows, 
the sounds of music coming from beer halls and 
concert saloons, thrilled him with an undefinable 
sensation of exhilaration. 

At last his feet strayed into a noisy, crowded 
thoroughfare. Never had he before beheld such a 
scene. Men and women passed him by without a 
glance, unless it was from the eyes of some of the 
“ Cyprians’* who crowded the park, eagerly look- 
ing for their prey. The young man heeded them 
not. He walked along slowly, enjoying the scene 
of life, a feeling of pride in his heart that not one 
of the thousands who passed him looked upon him 
with an eye of curiosity, as though they knew him 
to be a stranger, fresh from the country. 

“ They do not know but what I have lived here 
all my life,” he thought, and he held his head erect, 
and tried to look as indifferently as possible upon 
the surroundings. 

He felt proud to be one of the throng, a New 
Yorker. He had walked probably five or six 
blocks, when the sound of music coming from a 
basement saloon reached his ears. He felt slightly 
fatigued and thirsty, and concluded to go down 
into the saloon and have a glass of beer and rest 
awhile. 

He descended the steps, and found himself in a 
crowded room, brilliantly lit up and magnificently 


14 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


furnished and decorated. A long bar ran the full 
length of the room, behind which five bar-tenders, 
in white aprons, were dispensing liquid refresh- 
ments to the thirsty crowd. 

A number of tables were scattered about the 
place, most of them occupied. Young girls and 
women, some fresh and beautiful, others older and 
worn-looking, who tried to make up by artificial 
means what they lacked in natural beauty, all with 
an alluring, insinuating smile upon their lips, sat at 
the tables drinking, or hurried from the bar to the 
tables bearing trays, upon which were foaming 
glasses of lager, or other drinks, and who seemed 
anxious that every one of their customers should 
be satisfied to the utmost. George had heard of 
these waiter girls, but had never seen them before. 
He stood watching them for a moment, and then 
looked about him for a vacant seat at one of the 
many tables. 

He found one, and had no sooner taken posses- 
sion of it before one of the waitresses, a young 
girl, sat down beside him, 

“ What will you have ?” she asked. 

“ A glass of beer,” he answered, unconcernedly. 

“ Shall I bring one for myself?” she asked, with 
a smile intended to be fascinating. 

“ Yes. I suppose you grow thirsty waiting on 
so many people.” 

She replied that she did, but neglected to say 
that she got as much drink as she could comfort- 
ably dispose of to assuage her thirst, often much 
more than she could attend^to. 


A FORTUNATE ENCOUNTER 


15 


She hurried away, and, in a short time, returned 
with the drink — a glass of beer for George, a small 
glass containing some dark liquor for herself. 

“ Here’s luck,” she cried, raising the glass. 

** What are you drinking? ” he asked. 

“ Sherry.” 

“ I thought you were going to drink beer.” 

“ I never drink beer; it makes a girl so fat; I 
always take sherry; it only costs five cents more,” 
she replied. 

He said no more, but raised the glass of cold beer 
to his lips and took a long drink. 

The girl sat down beside him. She had emptied 
her glass, and was gazing at him sharply — study- 
ing him. 

” You are a stranger in the city,” she said at 
last. 

Roscoe blushed. He thought he looked as ” citi- 
fied” as any one in the room. 

“ No,” he stammered, in confusion; “ I live in 
the city.” 

‘T wouldn’t have thought it,” the girl remarked. 

” Why not? ” 

”Oh, your hair ain’t cut in style, and your skin is 
sunburnt. There’s lots of things which make you 
look like a country man.” 

He mentally resolved to have his personal 
appearance attended to in the morning. 

“ You’re real good looking,” she continued, with 
a glance of bold admiration. 

Again he blushed. 

” Do you think so? ” he stammered. 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


i6 

“ Why yes. And I guess you think so yourself, 
don’t you? ” she said slyly. 

He fidgeted about in his chair. He was not 
used to such open expressions of flattery. He did 
not stop to think that this was part of the girl’s 
“ stock in trade,” that she knew the best way to 
reach a man’s heart is by praise and flattery skill- 
fully administered. All men are alike. Flattery 
is sweet to their ears. 

He grew quite familiar with the enchantress, 
bought several glasses of beer and sherry (?) for 
her, in fact spent over one dollar, and was begin- 
ning to feel decidedly reckless and desperately 
enamored with the fair one who could see his 
manly beauty, and was evidently attracted by it; 
at least, so shQ seemed to be. It is very likely that 
our young adventurer would have made a fool of 
himself, like many men have done before when 
placed in the same position, and would have been 
out the $100 before morning had not an event 
transpired at that moment which saved him. 

He was sitting close to the girl, with one arm 
around her waist, whispering many things in her 
ear, when a heavy footstep sounded near the table, 
and the next moment a gruff, hoarse voice 
demanded: 

“ Yer pretty d d free wid dat bloke, Molly.” 

George looked around quickly, while the girl 
arose to her feet with a startled cry. The fellow 
who had spoken was a thick, heavy-set individual, 
with a very red face and heavy, black eyebrows. 
A short, stubby mustache of an undcfinable color 


A FORTUNATE ENCOUNTER 


17 


hid a repulsive, thick, cruel-looking mouth, while 
the eyes, red and inflamed by drink were of a 
shade of light green, alternating with yellow; and, 
as he gazed in sullen anger upon the girl who stood 
near, he looked about as nasty a customer as any 
man would care about tackling. He stood scowl- 
ing at the young man and the girl for a moment, 
then she walked up to him, and said, in a meaning 
tone: 

“ You’re drunk again, I see. Don’t interfere with 
my business.” 

“ Your business be d d. I don’t like this 

lally-gaggin’ and monkey business, I don’t. And, 
by G — d, I won’t have it. See! ” and he shook his 
finger under her nose. 

The girl grew red with anger, while George stood 
near wondering what it all meant. 

The girl drew the rough-looking fellow aside, 
and tried to remonstrate with him; at least so Ros- 
coe concluded; but the tough seemed impervious 
to reason, and finally struck the girl a blow across 
the face with his open hand. Roscoe felt the blood 
boiling in his veins, and sprang forward to take the 
girl’s part; but, before he could reach the spot, a 
clean-shaven, withered-up old man arose from a 
table near where the man and the girl were stand- 
ing, and struck the fellow a cutting blow with a rat- 
tan cane he held in his hand. 

“ You cowardly brute I” he cried, in a thin, wa- 
vering voice, to strike a woman ! Perhaps she 
is not much better than yourself, but she is a 
A Private Detective s 


i8 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


woman, you dog. You deserve severe punish- 
ment 

His voice rang above the noise and tumult of the 
place. Many people gathered around him. The 
bully uttered a snarl of rage, and raised his hand 
to strike the old man, but it never descended, for 
Roscoe, who had drawn near, raised a chair high 
above his head, and brought it crashing down 
upon the cranium of the tough. He fell to the 
floor without a groan, the blood gushing out of 
his mouth and nostrils. 

In a moment all was confusion. The waitresses 
flew screaming through the crowd, while the ha- 
bituh the place surged down upon our adven- 
turer. 

Roscoe felt a firm hand grasp his arm; a warning 
voice whispered in his ear, “ Leave quickly! You 
are in great danger.” 

He allowed himself to be led through the crowd, 
and in a few moments found himself upon the 
street. 


CHAPTER III. 

A STRANGE MAN. 

He was hurried along fora distance of two blocks, 
and then his companion, whom he recognized as the 
old man who had taken the girl’s part in the saloon, 
halted. 

“ We are safe now,” he remarked. “ In another 
moment you would have been pummeled to death, 


A STRANGE MAN tg 

perhaps arrested, for I think your blow killed the 
ruffian.” 

“ Killed him!” gasped George. 

“ Yes. You struck him a fearful blow; and, I 
think, ruptured a blood-vessel. At any rate, he will 
be laid up for some time.” 

Roscoe felt his heart sink. If he had killed the 
man, trouble might follow. He stood looking about 
him in fear. “ Don’t feel alarmed over the affair,” 
said the old man. “ You are in no danger. You 
struck the blow to save me; I will retaliate by sav- 
ing you. You shall accompany me home, and there 
you will be as safe as though you were in Europe. 
Come; it is not far distant.” 

Along the street, which George had ascertained 
was known as the Bowery, they hurried, scarcely 
speaking a word; the old man forced his way 
through the crowd until he reached the corner of 
First street. Then he turned and walked briskly 
toward the East River, George following closely 
upon his heels. At last he stopped before a little 
two-story frame house that seemed fit to tumble to 
the ground, and, opening the front door, beckoned 
to the young man to follow him, which Roscoe did 
without hesitation. 

He soon found himself inside the house. He 
was standing in a narrow hall, which was as dark 
as Erebus. He could not see his hand before him. 
His aged companion took his hand, and led him 
along the hall toward the rear of the house, and in a 
short time the young man saw a faint light shining 


20 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


through the key-hole of a door which stood before 
him. 

The old man opened the door, and George drew 
back in wonder, not unmixed with dread, as his 
eyes took in the surroundings. The apartment was 
small, hardly more than ten feet square, but it was 
literally crowded with the strangest assortment of 
odds and ends that he had ever seen. The walls 
were hung with the skins of animals, reptiles, 
snakes, alligators, birds, the skins being dressed 
with the feathers on. Stuffed animals and birds, 
lizards, frogs, snakes, stood around the room, and 
were arranged in cases along one side of the room. 
Dried herbs, roots and barks were thrown in piles 
promiscuously around the apartment. Near the 
door a skeleton hung on wires, being suspended 
from the ceiling, and the current of air caused by 
the door opening, set it in motion, and it swung, 
the bones rattling and clashing not three feet from 
the young man’s face. 

A lamp burning dimly upon the table, which 
stood at the opposite side of the room, feebly 
illuminated the weird scene, bringing each article 
into plain relief, making them appear ghastly in 
the extreme. 

The old man did not seem to notice Roscoe’s agi- 
tation. He stepped to the table, and turned up the 
light, and then, motioning the young man to a 
chair, he occupied another. 

" You are probably somewhat mystified as to my 
reasons for surrounding myself with all these 
things,” he said, with a wave of the hand that em- 


A STRANGE MAN 


21 


braced all about him. “ You shall be enlightened. 
I am an herb doctor. While physicians of the so- 
called regular school dose with death-dealing drugs 
and potions, I cure the sick with nature’s remedies. 
I have lived for years among the Indians in the far 
West, and understand their methods of healing the 
sick. These animals and birds that you see before 
you have fallen beneath my rifle in the olden time. 
I keep them near me to remind me of those days which 
were the happiest in my life. My visitors look in 
awe and dread upon them. Many a man has shud- 
dered at the sight of the skeleton yonder. These 
things are not to be feared. They are dead; and 
the dead cannot injure. Fear only the living. 
From them comes the greatest harm.” 

Roscoe sat listening to him. A strange being 
was this old man. His age must have been at 
least eighty years; yet his eye was keen, his grasp 
firm. His voice alone showed loss of power. He 
rose from his chair, and approached the skeleton. 
Carefully, even tenderly, he touched the white 
brow. 

“ This relic of what was once a beautiful crea- 
ture, is all that is left me of one I loved in the days 
gone by,” he said, in an agitated tone. “ My only 
comfort! ” 

“ Yes,” murmured George, scarcely knowing 
what he said. 

“ My wife,” replied the strange man. 

George gave a start of surprise. It seemed 
strange to him that any man of sound mind should 
do such a thing. 


22 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


** Yes/’ continued the old man, “my wife ! Day 
after day I sit alone in this room, and gaze upon 
this whitened brow — look into the sightless, star- 
ing sockets of this empty skull. I picture her as 
she was when in life — beautiful, with raven hair 
and flashing eyes ; her lips parted to reveal those 
white teeth which, you see, still remain in the jaws. 
Ah! she was a rare flower, and oh! how she loved 
me ! But, like all of earth, she withered and died. 

“ The loving heart ceased to beat, the rippling 
laughter was hushed in the silence of death. I 
have kept her near me in this form since. I often 
press a kiss upon this cold, dead skull. Men would 
ridicule me and call me insane if they knew this. 
But she was mine — I loved her. I love her still.” 

He pressed his withered lips upon the ghastly relic, 
and slowly returned to his chair. Silence profound 
reigned for some time. Roscoe felt a cold feeling 
of dread creeping over him. He could not under- 
stand this peculiar being. 

Finally the old man spoke again, this time in 
a matter-of-fact tone. 

“ You ran great risks in visiting that den of in- 
famy to-night,” he said. 

“ I saw nothing particularly alarming there,” re- 
plied Roscoe. 

“ Perhaps not,” remarked the old man, quietly. 
“ Matters had not progressed far enough as yet. Do 
you know that the' chances are that in the morning 
your dead body might have been found floating 
upon the waters of the East River, if lucky chance 
had not brought that brute to the place? ” 


A STRANGE MAN 


23 


“ What do you mean? 

This. You were spotted by a gang of cut- 
throats who frequent the place the very moment 
you entered. You thought you looked particu- 
larly citified, but they knew you at once. You 
cannot deceive those black birds of prey. The girl 
was an accomplice, a decoy; for that matter, all of 
them are. She would have enticed you to her den, 
and, then, after drugging you, would have robbed 
you and disposed of your body, with the assistance 
of the male members of the band. Hundreds of 
strangers disappear yearly in this manner.” 

“ I can hardly credit what you have told me,” 
gasped George. 

** Nevertheless it is true,” replied the man, 
firmly. 

“And yet you visit this place?” said George, 
suspiciously. 

The old man shot a quick glance at him. 

** My business calls me there,” he said, quietly. 
“ Listen! Every one of those criminals knows me. 
I have been their friend. Many and many a time 
have I saved their lives, and cured them by the 
means of my knowledge. I never admit them to 
my house; they do not know where I live; but, 
when they have need of my services, they leave 
word for me at the place where you saw me to-night. 
I go there every night. ” 

“Knowing them so well, it seems strange to me 
that you would consent to have anything to do with 
them,” remarked George. 

“ I care nothing for them,” said the old man, 


24 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


sharply. " They pay me well, and I assure myself 
by being paid in advance. I have one passion — a 
love for money. I am working only for that pre- 
cious substance, and, as their money enriches me, 
no matter from what source they obtain it, I take it, 
and ask no questions.” 

“ Then, you are a miser? ” 

“No; not that. I have an object in saving 
money. I care nothing for it for myself, but there 
is another one who will be left alone in the world 
when I am gone. It is for that one that I am work- 
ing. I cannot, in the common order of things, live 
much longer. I cannot go, knowing that one who 
depends upon me for sustenance, would be left 
unprovided for. And so I deal with criminals, as- 
sociate with the lowest of the low, for that one pur- 
pose.” 

“ Who is this one? ” cried George, curiously. 

“ My child. The living image of she who loved 
me in the happy days. A sweet young creature, 
gentle and loving, whose heart has not as yet 
yielded to the influence of man’s base passion, 
which some call love. She has never seen the face 
of man — she never will. ** 

“ And why? ” 

“ She is blind.” 

“ Blind? ” 

“ Yes. To gaze into her lovely orbs, you would 
never dream that they are sightless; but, alas! such 
is the case. She loves me, eagerly listens for the 
sound of my voice; but she has never seen my face. 


A STRANGE MAN 2 $ 

Now, do you wonder that I should desire money, 
gold, wealth?** 

Roscoe sat plunged in deep thought. He almost 
trembled as they crowded into his brain. He did 
not observe that the eyes of the old man were 
piercing into his soul, that he was searching his 
very heart. 

** She will never love any of human kind while 
I live,’* said the strange man, suddenly. “I can 
read your thoughts, young man. You cannot win 
her. She will never know you.” 

Roscoe grew fiery red. He had been thinking 
of trying to win this innocent child’s heart. He 
determined to put a bold face upon the matter. 

** Why not ? ” he cried. “ If I could win her, 
make her my wife, would it not be better for her 
when you are no more ? ” 

“ No,” answered his companion. 

“ She will need a protector.’* 

“ I have arranged for all that.** 

“ Some one may win her in spite of you.** 

“ I do not fear that.” 

« Why ? ” 

“ Because, young man, when with me she sees 
and knows only me in her mind. She is a part of 
my very self. She would be unconscious of your 
presence, even if she was in the same room as your- 
self. Ah! I see my words mystify you. You do 
not understand me. Well, then, I will explain. 
There is a subtle power which I possess that con- 
trols her. I could, without difficulty, call her to 
me even across the sea. I can cause her to walk, 


26 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


unassisted, blind as she is, through the thickest 
crowd without danger. Ah! I see you doubt me. 
You, like many others, doubt a thing simply 
because you do not understand it. But I will 
prove it to you. I will show you my power. 
Remain seated as you are, and remain silent. What 
you are about to witness I have never shown to 
any living being before. You shall see, your eyes 
shall be opened, and then you shall know.” 

The old man spoke energetically, quickly, his 
withered body almost writhing in his vehemence. 
George Roscoe sat as if entranced, waiting to 
behold he knew not what, believing that some 
mysterious demonstration was about to follow. 
Suddenly he asked, as the thought occurred to him: 

“ Why do you show me this? I am a stranger 
to you.” 

The old man turned upon him quickly. 

“ You saved my life — her life! ” he cried. 

Roscoe began to understand. 

“ Watch! ” commanded the strange being. 

CHAPTER IV. 

AN ANGEL IN HUMAN FORM. 

Turning down the lamp, the old man walked to 
the center of the apartment. First he kneeled up- 
on the floor and seemed to be praying, then he 
arose to his feet, and began to chant, in some strange 
tongue a weird, crooning melody. The sounds 
caused the blood to run cold in the young man's 


AN ANGEL IN HUMAN FORM 


27 


veins. It was awesome, almost supernatural. 
Gradually the sounds increased in volume, the old 
man swayed from side to side, waving his hands in 
the air, making rapid movements, strange signs. 
At last he broke out into a shrill cry. The move- 
ments of his arms and hands grew more rapid. He 
seemed to be possessed of supernatural strength. 
As the strange scene gradually grew more impres- 
sive, while George sat, open mouthed, clutching 
the sides of his chair, a door in the side of the wall, 
which had escaped his notice before, being covered 
and hidden from sight by a large buffalo hide, 
opened, and a young girl of such rare beauty that 
the young man gasped with astonishment, entered 
the apartment. 

Beautiful is not the word to describe the tran- 
scendental loveliness of the devine creature who 
entered the room. Tall, being nearly five feet 
eight or nine inches, very tall for a girl of her age, 
clothed in a clinging robe of some white material 
that swept the floor behind her as she walked, 
rather glided to the center of the apartment. 
A face lit up with an angelic smile; eyes that 
glowed and sparkled in the dim light, and which 
gave no evidence of her affliction; a dainty, 
lovely mouth parted in a smile of joy and tender- 
ness; hair like spun gold rippling to within a few 
inches of her feet. 

Such is an inadequate description of the vision 
that appeared before the eyes of the astonished 
young man. 

" Father! murmured the fair one; the word 


28 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


falling like a note from some sweet-toned instru- 
ment of music upon Roscoe’s ear. 

** My loved one, my angel,’' murmured th.e old 
man, in response. 

The next moment he pressed a kiss upon the red 
lips. 

” I felt your presence,” she said. “ I have been 
waiting for your summons.” 

” You have been happy to-day? ” he asked. 

” Yes. Am I not happy every day ? But, 
father, a new, strange feeling has been upon me 
since you left me. It seemed to me as though 
some dark cloud was about to cross my happy life. 
I never felt that way before. ” 

“ Your imagination has been running wild, my 
child.” 

“ Perhaps. But it oppressed me for a while. I 
hope nothing will come from it. You know, father, 
that I have no one but you. This feeling of op- 
pression seems to form itself into vague shadows 
when I think of you.” 

He waved his hand before her beautiful, sightless 
eyes. 

“ Begone, oppressive fantasies,” he cried, in a 
sharp, commanding voice. “ Only happiness must 
dwell in the heart of my darling.” She sighed 
gently. Then the smile upon her face grew 
brighter. The old man clasped her in his arms, 
and showered kisses upon her sweet face. Thus 
they lingered for many minutes, and then the loving 
father, the strange man who possessed such mys- 
terious power, dismissed her. She left the room 


AN ANGEL IN HUMAN FORM 


29 


by the same hidden door by which she had entered, 
going directly to it without hesitation. As she 
disappeared from sight, Roscoe drew a long breath, 
and then sighed. 

“ An angel,’* he muttered, involuntarily. 

The old man heard his words, and approached 
him. 

“ Yes, an angel,” he murmured. “ In her I see 
again her mother. They are alike in form and 
face. Her mother, however, was dark, while she is 
fair. Her mother was lovely; she is divinely beau- 
tiful. You saw all?” 

” Yes.” 

“ She knew not of your presence. You could 
have spoken to her, and she would have heard you 
not. She is for me only.” 

“ Your power is great and mysterious,” muttered 
George. 

“ True,” answered the strange one. “ And yet 
you possess that power.” 

“ Yes. Only in your case it is not developed. 
Some day, perhaps, when I shall have fully decided 
that I can trust you, I may reveal to you the 
power that is lying dormant in your soul. But 
come, the hour is late; I am fatigued. You shall 
remain with me. Your baggage shall be brought 
from your hotel to my house. You will lose 
nothing by companionship with me, but rather gain 
much.” 

“ How do you know where my baggage is, or 
that I have any? ” cried George, in surprise. 


30 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


The old man smiled — “ I know much,” he replied, 
mysteriously. “ I will reveal to you many things 
during the next few days. Do not question me 
to-night. Be content to know that I am familiar 
with your intention, and all concerning you. Your 
baggage will be here in my house when you awaken 
in the morning — come.” 

And, taking up the lamp, he led the way from the 
room, followed by the mystified young man. 


CHAPTER Vj 

FRESH SURPRISES. 

Out into the hall, up a flight of rickety stairs, 
the herb doctor led the way. The flickering lamp 
carried in his hand dimly lit up the surroundings — 
the gloomy, dirty hall, with the plaster falling oft 
in many places, the tumble-down staircase which 
groaned and trembled beneath the weight of the 
two. All this Roscoe saw and observed as he fol- 
lowed the old man to the place where he was to 
rest that night. 

The second story was reached. It was blacker 
and dirtier even than the floor below. Roaches 
crawled along the walls, and ran scurrying across 
the bare floor as the two reached the top of the 
staircase. The squeak and squeal of rats also came 
to the ears of the young man, and made him 
shudder. 

The old man observed the action, and turned 
upon him. 


FRESH SURPRISES 3 1 

My house does not seem to impress you favor- 
ably,” he remarked. 

“ The roaches and rats do not,” replied Roscoe. 

The old man smiled, 

“ They will not harm you,” he said. “ Strange 
that man should quake with fear and shudder at the 
sight of a harmless roach or a frightened rat or 
mouse. These are God's creatures, the same as 
anything else that draws the breath of life. They 
are put on earth for some good purpose, and can 
not injure man, and yet the strong being who could 
destroy the weak animal or insect, jumps in fear 
when he beholds one. Strange the peculiarities of 
man. ” 

George made no reply. The old man had been 
standing at the head of the stairs while delivering 
the dissertation just recorded. Now he stepped 
forward with a sudden movement as if to make up 
lost time. 

“ Before you retire,” he remarked, turning to 
George, “ I will show you something that will 
enlighten you as to the presence of rats in my 
house. Come,” and, turning the knob of the door, 
he entered, followed by the young man. 

As George stepped inside the door, the patter, 
patter, of many footsteps came to his ears. 

Squeak, squeak, came the familiar noise made by 
rats. He saw the old man standing in the center 
of the bare, unfurnished apartment, standing 
holding the lamp. A large chest stood near him. 

“ Watch,” he said, simply, and, setting the lamp 
upon the floor, he opened the chest, and took 


32 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


something therefrom. Then he began to whistle 
softly between his set teeth. A whispering — his 
sing sort of whistle. Patter, patter, patter. 
Whirr. 

Clatter, squeak, came from every direction 
through holes in the plastering, holes in the floor, 
crevices in the wainscoating. Rats by the score, 
even by the hundred. Soon the floor seemed to be 
actually covered with their fat, gray bodies. How 
quickly they darted from one side of the room to 
the other, apparently without fear, as if the pres- 
ence of human beings was not strange to them. 

The young man gave utterance to a cry of startled 
surprise at first, but quickly recovered himself, and 
gazed upon the strange scene with curiosity. The 
old man stretched out his arms, and the gray- 
coated little animals swarmed up his legs, over his 
body, covering him completely. 

George now saw that the old man was feeding 
them with the substance he had taken from the 
chest. They devoured the food provided by their 
strange friend, 'ravenously. For fully ten minutes 
this strange scene continued, and then the old man 
carefully removed the little animals from his per- 
son, taking great care not to injure any one of 
them, and, picking up the lamp, left the room. 

When they stood outside the door once more, 
he turned to the young man, and said: 

“ These are my pets. I feed them every night, 
and they look for my coming as does the child for 
the coming of the parent. They love me, and in- 
jure me not. They do not fear me.*' 


FRESH SURPRISES 


33 


He then opened the door leading into another 
room, and ushered the young man into it. 

George observed that the apartment in which he 
now found himself was furnished neatly, and was 
perfectly clean. 

The floor was carpeted ; clean white curtains 
hung at the windows. The bed was an old-fash- 
ioned four-poster, hung with white curtains, and a 
chest of drawers and three chairs completed the 
furniture of the apartment. 

" Here you will sleep,” remarked his conductor. 
“ Sleep without fear. Naught will occur to injure 
you. You will be as free from harm here as 
though you were in your father’s house. I will see 
you again in the morning. Good night,” and, set- 
ting the lamp upon the chest of drawers, he took 
his departure. 

For some minutes after the old man had left him, 
George stood in the center of the apartment, gaz- 
ing about him. The events of the night came in 
review before his mind, and it all seemed so strange, 
so unnatural, that he could scarcely believe that 
they had occurred. The mysterious old man filled 
him with wonder. He could hardly bring his mind 
to credit the truth of all he had seen and heard. 

Finally he began to disrobe, and, turning down 
the lamp, retired. He was very tired, and thought 
he would have no difficulty in getting to sleep, but 
somehow the drowsy god refused to come to him. 
He lay awake, his eyes refusing to close. Sleep 
and weariness had left him, and, after tossing to and 

A Private Detective j 


34 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


fro for an hour, trying every plan he had ever heard 
of to induce somnolence, he gave it up, and lay 
staring at the ceilings. Suddenly, with a flicker and 
spurt, his lamp went out, and the room was plunged 
in darkness. 

George Roscoe was not a cowardly or timorous 
young man, but the thought of remaining alone in 
the room under the same roof that covered ghastly 
relics of the dead, swarming rats, and so much that 
was weird and unearthly, in darkness, caused a cold 
chill to permeate his entire body, and he could feel 
his hair slowly rising. Faint sounds came to his 
ears, and each one filled him with terror. The 
creaking of the bed, as he turned from side to side, 
caused his heart to beat violently with fright, and 
he had just made up his mind to get up and see if 
he could not in some way induce the lamp to burn 
again, when the soft tread of some one ascending 
the stairs, evidently in stocking feet, caused a fresh 
feeling of alarm to shoot through his mind, and 
started his heart to beating more violently than 
ever. He lay perfectly still upon the bed. The 
footsteps drew nearer, they ceased before his door; 
he heard the knob slowly turn, and the next moment 
a light shone into the room. The young man 
thought it best to simulate sleep. His vest, in 
which was his money, watch and chain, was under 
his pillow, and he concluded that, if his midnight 
visitor came for the purpose of robbery, that it 
would be time enough to defend himself when that 
fact was made plain. 


FRESH SURPRISES 35 

So he remained perfectly quiet., except for the 
deep, regular breathing which he simulated. 

The light grew brighter; the visitor was in the 
room. With his eyes half closed, the young man 
looked out between the curtains, and saw, with 
surprise, that the new-comer was none other than 
the old man himself. He lay watching his move- 
ments. Without glancing toward the bed, the old 
herbalist glided silently toward the chest of draw- 
ers. He was clad in a long white robe, and, with 
his pale, set face, his tall form robed in white, he 
presented a sight which, if seen suddenly and un- 
expectedly, would frighten almost any one. George 
came to the conclusion that the old man had not 
come Upon an evil errand; from his actions, he 
judged that he was not conscious of what he was 
doing. That he was a somnambulist, he believed 
positively. 

The old man set the lamp which he had brought 
with him upon the top of the chest of drawers, and 
stooping, he pulled out the lowest drawer, and took 
therefrom a package of papers. For many minutes 
he sat opening them and looking them over. Some 
of them were yellow with age, some compara- 
tively of recent date, to judge from the state of 
preservation in which they seemed to be. 

The young man watched the movements of the 
strange being before him. What was he doing? 
What were those papers that he seemed to be so 
much interested in? He made up his mind to 
know. But how? Perhaps the following night he 
would not sleep in this same room, or, rather, occupy 


36 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


it, for sleep had not visited him, so, if he did any- 
thing at all, it must be done to-night. He rapidly 
concluded what was to be done, and silently crept 
out of bed. He knew the old man to be in a som- 
nambulistic state, and so had no fear of discovery. 
His plan was a simple one, he merely wished to 
remove the lighted lamp from the chest of drawers, 
eaving the one which had gone out. He had seen, 
that the old man merely pulled the drawer out 
without unlocking it, and so concluded that he 
would leave it in the same condition as he had 
found it. He stealthily crept toward the drawers, 
and in a moment had the light in his hand. To 
recross the room was the work of a second. He 
placed the lamp upon the floor by the side of the 
bed, and then awaited further developments. 

He had not long to wait. The somnambulist 
gave no evidence of knowledge as to his action, 
and soon replaced the papers, and, taking the 
extinguished lamp, left the apartment. George 
heard him as he descended the stairs, and then, 
making sure that he had gone for good, sprang out 
of bed and crossed the room to the chest of 
drawers. Placing the lamp on the floor beside 
him, he took hold of the brass handles of the 
drawer, and pulled it out. It was not locked, as he 
had thought, and in a second the entire contents of 
the drawer were exposed to his gaze. They were 
numerous and a strange conglomeration. Indian 
arrow and spear heads, cut by the savages them- 
selves from flint and stone; books, bottles, 


THE STRANGE PAPERS 


37 


papers, some portraits; that is what he saw; one 
daguerreotype attracted his attention. 

It was the portrait of a woman of divine beauty. 
Eyes that seemed to be laughing, looked up into 
his face. He had no difficulty in recognizing the 
face; it was so much like that of the girl he had 
seen down-stairs, in the old doctor’s office, or pri- 
vate curiosity shop, that he came to the conclusion 
that the portrait was that of the mother, the loved 
wife of the old man, whose skeleton hung suspended 
from the ceiling of the room below. 

He gazed upon the beautiful face for a moment, 
and then took up the bundle of papers which had 
aroused his curiosity. He took up and opened the 
first. No sooner had his eyes rested upon it, than 
he gave utterance to a cry of amazement and exul- 
tation. Then arranging his lamp so as to get as 
much light as possible, he carefully read it through. 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE STRANGE PAPERS. 

Across the top of the manuscript, in bold, broad 
characters, were written, or rather printed, these 
words: 

“ THE CONFESSION OF JOHN ROBERTS. 

Written while dying of starvation in a place 
where gold abounds; but which ^ alaSy cannot satisfy 
an empty stomach, 

“ My name is John Roberts. I am an adven- 
turer by profession (for I consider my business as 
one of the greatest of professions), and have been 


38 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


remarkably successful in my business until one 
week ago. To-day is the i6th of May. On the 
7th of this same month I drew rein before the 
^Golden Gate’ hotel in Pueblo. Not a very invit- 
ing spot, but business brought me there, and one 
can endure much discomfort for the sake of gold. 

I am enduring it now, and the prospects of an early 
and horrible death stare me in the face. Still, I will 
not complain; fortune has smiled upon me often, 
and all may not be lost yet. 

“ As I stopped before the hotel, the landlord, a 
jovial fellow, took my horse and welcomed me. I 
alighted, and walked into the bar-room. There 
was a dozen or more men sitting about the place, 
of that character of men who can be found in a town 
near by a gold field. I strutted in carelessly, and 
asked the crowd up to the bar to drink. Not one 
of them refused me. None of that character sel- 
dom do. After drinking, I asked them casually if 
they knew of the whereabouts of one Jim Baird, 
who had been seen in Pueblo but a few days before. 
Before any one of them could answer my question, 
a wild-looking man burst into the room and strode 
up to the bar. ^ I am Jim Baird! ’ he announced, in 
a full, deep, manly voice. ^ What do you want of 
me?’ I looked him over before I answered the 
question. A finer or nobler specimen of manhood 
I had never seen. Tall, over six feet in height, 
with long, flowing hair covered with a broad som- 
brero. A heavy black beard that descended to his 
waist added to his majestic appearance. His voice, 
heavy and full, was like distant thunder, and his 


THE STRANGE PAPERS 


39 


eye, keen as a sharp sword, and as piercing as an 
eagle, looked me through and through. I an- 
swered his interrogation. matter of business,’ I 
replied, quietly, and with hidden meaning. 

“ ‘ Business! What business? ’ he demanded. 

“ * There are more desirable places than this to talk 
in,’ I remarked. 

“ He turned and strode toward the door. 

" * Come,’ he said, simply, and left the room. I 
followed him. 

“ Along the narrow sidewalk he hurried at such a 
rapid pace that I found it almost impossible to keep 
up with him. He did not seem to notice my dis- 
tress, only walked on straight ahead, climbing over 
hills, down dells, until he came to a small log cabin, 
probably one mile from town. Before the door of 
this rude dwelling he halted. 

“ * This is my home,’ he said, simply; * here we 
can talk without the fear of being disturbed.’ 

“ So saying, he threw open the door and entered, 
I following closely upon his heels. The interior of 
the cabin was rather dark at first, coming in out of 
the bright sunlight; but I gradually grew accus- 
tomed to the semi-darkness, and then saw that the 
man I had come to see was leaning against the 
mantelpiece, which was simply a planed board, 
nailed to two small brackets, and was gazing at me 
intently. 

I looked about the apartment carelessly. There 
was nothing uncommon about the place — merely a 
plain, barely furnished cabin, such as can be seen 
any day, in almost any section of this country. 


40 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


Baird spoke at last. ‘ If you have satisfied your 
curiosity, we will come to business,* he said. I 
bowed in token of assent, and he pushed a splint- 
bottomed chair toward me. 

“ I took the chair. 

“ * I have had a long hunt for you,’ I began. 

‘ You have found me,’ he replied. 

“ 'Yes, fortunately.’ 

“ ' Now that you have found me, what do you 
want?’ bespoke impatiently. 

“ ' I come from Nellie,’ I said. He started as 
though he had been struck. 

“ ' Nellie! ' he shouted ; ' does she live? ’ 

“ I saw that he was agitated. 

“ 'No; she is dead,’ I replied. 

“ A look of joy overspread his majestic features. 

“ 'Thank God!’ he cried; ‘I am free.’ 

“ I could see his lips moving as if in prayer. I 
waited for some time before speaking again. 
Finally I said : 

“ ' No; you are not free.’ 

“ He made a sudden movement toward me. 

“ ' What do you mean?’ he demanded, his brow 
darkening. 

“ ' Compose yourself, and I will tell you,’ I 
replied. He sat down opposite to me. I could 
see that he was greatly disturbed. ‘Nellie is 
dead,’ I beg^n. ' I saw her die; but Nellie’s 
child is living — Nellie’s child — your child.’ 

“ 'You lie!’ he hissed. 'I have no child! Nel- 
lie’s child is not mine — not one drop of my blood 
courses through her veins.’ 


THE STRANGE PAPERS 


41 


“ * You are wrong/ I said. * You made a fatal 
mistake ten years ago. Overcome by jealousy, you 
put the breadth of the continent between you and 
the best woman who ever lived. You accused her 
of dishonor and shame, said she was untrue to you, 
when she never had thought of any one save you 
in her heart. You left her broken-hearted. Your 
cruelty killed her.* 

“ ‘ She was untrue! * 

** * She was not! * 

“ We both rose to our feet simultaneously. He 
glared at me as if he would have liked to have 
struck me. I returned his glance with one of 
firmness and determination. 

“ 'You speak positively,’ he growled, at last. 

“ ‘ I do so because I know whereof I speak/ I 
replied. 

“ * What do you know ? * 

“ I took a small parcel from my pocket, and re- 
moved the outer covering. The packet was simply 
some extracts from newspapers and a letter. 

“ ‘ Here is my knowledge, and the proof of the 
truth of it,' I replied. 

“ He held out his hand to take the packet. I 
motioned to him to be seated. He obeyed me, 
reluctantly. 

** * I will read you the cutting and letter which I 
hold in my hand,’ I said. * But, first, I will ask 
you a few questions. You can answer them with- 
out trouble, and need not hesitate about doing so.* 

“ * Go ahead,* he said, shortly. 


42 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


“ ' What was the date of the birth of your child, 
little Nellie ? * 

“ * Oct, 17th, 1836/ 

“ ' Then, she is now eleven years of age ? * 

“ * Nearly so.* 

“ ' Listen. I will read you this cutting from the 
London Times. You will see the date is September 
2d, 1835.’ I showed him the clipping. He saw 
the date. Then I read it to him. 

“ ‘ We received a visit yesterday from Harold 
Forsberg, the celebrated litterateur y of New York. 
He states he has been making a tour of the 
world, having been in Australia, Asia and India 
for three years past. He proposed to “ do ” Eu> 
rope, and then return to his native country. Good 
luck be with him wherever he goes.’ 

“ I handed the clipping to Baird, who read it over 
carefully, a look of wonder in his eyes, and then 
returned it to me. 

“ ^ Now, the next,* I continued, and read the 
next clipping, also from the TimeSy but three 
months later. 

“ ‘ We have received information which is un- 
doubtedly correct, to the effect that a party of 
tourists, while ascending Mont Blanc, were over- 
taken by an avalanche, and all destroyed. Among 
the party was Harold Forsberg, the eminent writer 
and litterateur. Literary circles will feel his loss 
keenly.* 

The man before me gave a great start. I could 
see his face working. 

“ ‘ Proceed,* he muttered, hoarsely. 


THE STRANGE PAPERS 


43 


“ I did so. I read the letter. 

** It was written by one of the monks of St. Ber- 
nard, who had found the body of the writer, and 
in whose arms he had breathed his last. It was 
addressed to the dead man’s mother. I read the 
letter slowly and distinctly. Baird heard every 
word of it without saying one word. After waiting 
for him to speak, and seeing that he made no effort 
to do so, I said: * These extracts and this letter 
prove beyond doubt that you have acted wrong, 
that your suspicions were unfounded. Harold 
Forsberg, whom you accused as your wife’s lover, 
was not in the country three years prior to the 
birth of your child. He died nine months before 
little Nellie saw the light of day. How you ever 
came to think of such a thing is more than I am 
able to comprehend.’ 

“ ^ Her mysterious visits at night to some one; 
her former love for this man ; all these things came 
to my mind,’ he murmured. 

“ * And can all be explained. Her mysterious 
visits were made to a worthless brother who was in 
hiding, having committed a crime which would 
have sent him to jail for a long term of years if he 
had been captured.’ 

“ ‘ Is this true? ’ 

“ * As God sees me.’ 

“ ‘ How do ^ou know this? ’ 

“ ‘ I am that worthless brother.’ 

“ He stared at me in blank amazement. I saw that 
my words had astounded him. Then he arose to 


44 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


his feet and held out his hand. I took it, and he 
clasped it in his own with an iron ^rip. 

“ * You are Nellie’s brother,’ he said; ‘ forgive 
me.’ 

“ 'Then, you believe her guiltless?’ I cried. 

“ ' You have proven it to me,’ he replied. 

“ ' Then, you will do what is right for your child? ’ 

“ ' Yes; take me to her; I will be a father to her, 
a loving parent, in whose love and tender care she 
shall never know sorrow or want.’ 

“ ‘ My mission is successful,’ I cried; ' I forgive 
you. Pray to your injured wife in Heaven to do the 
same.’ 

** His action startled me. He fell upon his knees 
without another word, and offered up a supplica- 
tion to the spirit of his wife in Heaven. Then he 
rose to his feet; his face was calm. 

“ ' She has heard me, and has forgiven me,’ he 
said, simply; ' I feel it here/ laying his hand over 
his heart. ' Now come,’ he continued, ' we must 
lose no time in going to her — to my child.’ 

“ I informed him that no time should be lost, but 
suggested the advisability of leaving his affairs in 
such a condition that in case of sudden death or 
accident of any kind, his child would have no 
difficulty in getting her own. He agreed to my 
proposition, and set about it at once. He made his 
will, drew up papers describing his properties, 
and, among other things, outlined a sort of map or 
plan by which a certain mine, which was of untold 
richness, and the secret of which was known only 
to himself, could be found. These papers he 


THE STRANGE PAPERS 


45 


intrusted to my care, and then, after promising him 
that we would start in the morning, I suggested 
that we had better partake of refreshments. He 
curbed his evident impatience, and set about pre- 
paring supper. Shortly after we both retired. 
Now for the horrible part of this my confession, and 
the truth. It would have never been discovered if 
fate had not decreed that misfortune and failure 
should follow. So, that in order that the one 
deserving shall not suffer from my sin and crime, I 
will continue and relate it all, every fact. 

“ First. I lied when I told Jim Baird that I was 
his wife’s brother. I am not her brother. 

“ Again, I lied when I said she was dead. She is 
living, and is — my wife! She thinks him dead. I 
wormed the secret of her early life out of her, and 
determined to profit by it. His wealth should be 
mine — I had schemed for it. I would have been 
successful but for one thing, which shall be told 
later on. 

“ The newspaper clipping and the letter told the 
truth. I had them to help me; the result I have 
stated, 

“ I lay awake for a long time that night. Baird 
slept soundly. It was my intention to dispose of 
him; and, now that I had his papers in my posses- 
sion, I had only to put him out of the way to enjoy 
the benefits of his great wealth. I had no com- 
punction of conscience; I am an adventurer. I 
stated that fact before. Adventurers have their 
consciences under complete control. I made my 


46 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


plans before I fell asleep, and, I might say, I slept 
soundly. 

“ At an early hour we set out. Baird rode his 
own horse, a noble animal. Mine was at the hotel. 
I took him from the stable, and before daybreak we 
were on our way. When the sun rose we were far 
away, riding up the mountain-side. Baird was in 
advance, riding along unsuspicious of danger. I drew 
my revolver. Crack ! it was done, horse and rider fell 
crashing down the canon. I had been successful. I 
halted some distance beyond the spot where the no- 
blest specimen of manhood I had ever seen met a foul 
death, murdered by me. I say it plainly; there is 
no use of trying to conceal it, for I shall be dead 
when this is discovered, and so escape the punish- 
ment I deserve from the hands of man. God is 
punishing me! I drew the papers he had given 
me from my pocket, and examined them carefully. 
They were all right. The child of my wife’s first 
marriage would inherit all of the vast wealth de- 
scribed in the articles I held in my hands. I would 
enjoy the benefit of it. I came to the map; I 
studied it well for a long time; an uncontrollable 
desire came upon me to visit this mine. 

“ I followed out the instructions written upon the 
map, and found the mine. I am writing this in its 
interior even now. For hours I wandered about in 
the natural corridors of one of the most surprising 
natural caves I had ever seen. I then concluded to 
leave it, and continue on my way. I tried to find 
the entrance; I could not. 


A DISCOVERY 4/ 

" I had entered hurriedly, and without noticing 
the spot particularly. I could not find it. 

I have been confined here for many days. It is 
a miracle that I am alive, even now. I am weak, 
hardly able to write this confession, and I cannot 
possibly hold out much longer. I will inclose the 
papers given me by Jim Baird, in a packet with 
this confession. There is an aperture not far from 
where I am sitting, through which the light shines 
through. It seems about the size of a man’s hand. 
I will throw the packet through this opening. It 
will be found by some one crossing the mountain. 
They will read the papers, and come to search for 
me. The map will direct them, and perchance they 
will destroy the papers, and Nellie will never re- 
ceive her own; but I must take that chance, trust to 
God to send some honest man this way. When I 
am found I shall be dead. So be it. I killed Jim 
Baird. It is no more than justice that I should 
die. 

“John Roberts.” 


CHAPTER VII. 

A DISCOVERY. 

Finishing the confession, Roscoe turned it over 
and over in his hands, bewildered, dumbfounded. 
How came this paper in the possession of the 
strange old man beneath whose roof he was even 
then sheltered ? It was written in a secret, unknown 
mine, by a man who must surely be dead long ago. 


48 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


How came John Roberts’ confession in the hands 
of the old herb doctor? 

“ I will read the balance of these papers. They 
may enlighten me,” he muttered, and took up the 
next. A cry of astonishment escaped his lips as 
he did so. It was a roughly outlined map, the 
map which Jim Baird had drawn so many years 
before. Roscoe knew it at once. The words of 
the confession were yet fresh in his mind. Again 
the query. How came they in this place? Ah! 
another paper ; a bulky one. He spread it out 
before him and read : 

“ AN EXPLANATION. ” 

The writing was in a crabbed, scrawled hand ; 
not like either of the other documents. Filled with 
curiosity and eagerness, the young man read, and 
this was what met his eyes. The paper is written 
out in full, just as it was. 

“ AN EXPLANATION. 

I am a coward. 

“ There is no use of denying it. My very act of 
writing this goes to prove it. 

“ If I was a man, and had been square and hon- 
est and brave, there would be no necessity of writ- 
ing this at all, for the facts herein worded would 
have never transpired. 

**Butno! I was a coward then. I am a cow- 
ard now, and so I write what I dare not say, 
and, when I have finished, I shall put this paper 
safely away until the day of my death. Then it 
will be found, and all will be known. I could just 


A DISCOVERY 49 

as well go to the one I am writing this for and tell 
her all, she would not blame me. 

“ But I said I am a coward. I dread to have her 
know the truth, know that I am not her father. I 
love her so, and I think, aye, I know that she loves 
me. She is the sweetest creature that ever lived, 
and I treasure her love so much that I actually 
tremble with fear when I think of losing it. Would 
she turn from me if she knew all? I cannot say, 
but so great is my fear that I have kept her under 
the spell of my mesmeric influence for years, and 
dread to restore her to herself once more. Her 
eyes have never rested upon my face. She does 
not know me, only in spirit and by the sound of 
my voice. But enough of this. I will write what 
I fear to say, and have done with it. None would 
ever suspect what I am voluntarily about to con- 
fess. None shall ever know the truth until after 
my death, and then all will be made right, and not 
until then. 

“ For years I have led a nomadic life amid the 
wilds of the far West. My friends and companions 
have been the beasts and animals of the prairie 
and forest; the red man, who makes his home far 
from the baleful civilization which civilizes only to 
destroy. 

“ I love solitude. The roar of the mountain tor- 
rent is as sweet music to my ears. The sighing of 
the wind through the tree-tops brings peace and 
comfort to my heart. For many years I dwelt in 
the midst of the Rockies, my home a cave, my rai- 

A Private Detective 4 


50 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


merit the skins of animals, my food their flesh and 
the berries and fruits of the forest. One day, while 
wandering through the forests, I struck the trail 
that leads over the mountains. Aimlessly I fol- 
lowed it, without any objective point in view. I 
strolled along. Suddenly 1 stopped. A strange 
object lay in the path before me — nothing alarm- 
ing, nothing to cause fear, but something that 
filled me with surprise, a packet of papers! 

“ I picked them up, and seated myself behind a 
boulder to examine them. I was secure from 
observation. No one passing could possibly see 
me, and I had no fear of sueh a thing, for the trail 
was but little used. 

“ I opened the papers. They are the same as 
those inclosed with this explanation, which is rather 
more of a confession than anything else. I prefer 
the word explanation, however, as confession, in my 
mind, conveys the idea of crime, and I have not 
committed any deed of crime. I read the confes- 
sion of John Roberts, the will and other papers of 
Jim Baird. 

“ I stood as if paralyzed for a long time after 
having done so. The date was the 23d of May. 
Roberts must be dead. I had been the first to pass 
along the rocky path. The secret of the mine was 
my own! Would I prove honest? I thought. First 
to find the entrance to the mine. I started at once 
in quest of it, without answering the thought that 
came to me. 

“ I was familiar with the locality. I had the map 
to guide me, and so had but little difficulty in find- 


A DISCOVERY 


51 


ing the cave. The entrance was cleverly concealed. 
Anyjone could pass the spot a hundred times with- 
out noticing it. I entered the cave. It was rather 
dark at first. My eyes failed me, but my nose had 
not lost its power, for a very disagreeable odor 
assailed my nostrils in a few seconds after T had 
found my way inside the cavern. Soon my eyes 
grew accustomed te the semi-darkness. I then 
saw the source from which came the unsavory odor. 

“ The dead and decaying body of a man lay not 
ten feet from where I stood, the body of John 
Roberts. He had died of starvation not ten feet 
from the spot where the natural entrance to the 
cavern was hidden. I carefully marked the spot. 
I did not care about meeting the same fate that had 
overtaken him. I walked around the loathsome 
object, and examined the interior of the place, as he 
had done before me. It was as he had written, 
a vast mine of untold wealth. I stood awed, over- 
powered in the midst of it. I alone knew the se- 
cret. To what use could I put it? Again came the 
thought, 'Could I prove myself an honest man?* 
A struggle took place in my mind. I had never 
felt much desire for riches. True, I had never been 
placed in a position where the chance was open to 
me. There are hundreds of honest men in the 
world who are simply honest because they never 
had a chance to be otherwise. I had always been 
poor, a wandering, secluded hermit. But now 
millions in gold was lying almost at my very feet, 
only asking U) be gathered. Could I give this all 
up, and remain as I was? I pondered deeply for a 


52 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


long time. Suddenly came the thought, ‘ I do not 
know where to look for the woman and her child 
to whom all this wealth belongs; there is no record 
made of her whereabouts.’ My good side whis- 
pered, * Search the pockets of the dead man; you 
will probably gain some information from that 
source.’ 

‘‘ I determined to do so, and approached the 
corpse. Not without a shudder; for, although I 
had often seen dead men before, still I never had 
seen one so horrible and ghastly. I shudder as I 
think of it now. Controlling, with an effort, the 
feeling of repugnance that nearly overcame me; I 
began my search. I found a number of letters and 
papers in the pocket of the coat; some of the 
letters had his address upon them. I knew where 
to find the woman and her child. It was a long 
distance to go; but, having made up my mind to do 
the right thing by these two, I did not hesitate about 
starting upon my journey. I buried John Roberts, 
and left the cave. In a week I had reached the 
home of Jim Baird’s wife and child. 

“ I found the woman to be one of the loveliest 
creatures that the mind of man can conceive. To 
me, who had never been thrown much in female 
society, she was an angel. I told her my errand, 
all save the existence of the mine. I told her of 
Jim Baird’s death; also of the untimely end of 
John Roberts; explaining that he had fallen 
between two walls, shortly after taking the life of 
Baird, and had died a short while after I had found 


A DISCOVERY 53 

him. A lie; but I could not bring myself to tell 
her the truth. 

** She did not mourn much after Roberts; but the 
story of the death of Baird, her husband, whom 
she had thought dead long before this, drove her 
wild. I soothed her. She gave herself up to my 
sympathy. My words seemed to bring peace and 
comfort to her mind. I then discovered my won- 
derful power over the minds of others. 

“ Her child was not at home. She told me her 
sad story. The little one was blind, and she had 

sent her to a celebrated oculist at D to receive 

treatment. 

” The week passed by. I found myself desper- 
ately in love with the woman, and found she re- 
turned my passion. To make a long story short, 
I married her. 

We were very happy. The child returned home. 
The mother, taking advantage of her affliction, 
told her that I was her true father, who had returned 
to her. The girl believes it to this day. After 
years of divine happiness, the angel I loved died. 

“ I will not dwell long upon this. The memory of 
that fearful blow almost drives me wild, even 
now. I nearly lost my mind. I raved like a wild 
man. I censured the Almighty for having left me 
desolate. In my sorrow the child tried to soothe 
me. Her sweet voice, speaking in tones of love and 
tenderness, brought solace to my aching heart. I 
resolved that my darling should never be placed in 
the cold ground. I preserved her body as long as 
I could. Her frame, the bones that formed the 


54 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


structure for her beautiful form, are near me while 
I write. 

“ I left the town where I had been so happy, and 
came to New York. The girl I brought with me. 
I dare not tell her of the existence of the mine or 
of Jim Baird’s wealth, for then it will be discovered 
that I am not her father, and she may be lost to me; 
and so I write this and put it carefully away among 
the papers I found upon the mountain path. When 
I am gone they will be found by the one man in all 
this world that I can trust, and he will do what I 
have failed to perform — my duty to Nellie. Per- 
chance ere this some one else has discovered the 
secret of the mine; if so, Nellie will never come into 
her inheritance. Perhaps it is better so. I have 
become wealthy during the years I have been in 
this city. She will not be left destitute. 

“Jason Marsden.” 

And the explanation or confession ended. 

Roscoe sat upon the floor in a brown study. 
He was quick to grasp a situation, and he under- 
stood thoroughly how matters stood. The old 
man was Jason Marsden, and the lovely creature 
whom he had seen that night was the girl Nellie, 
Baird’s daughter, and the heiress to an immense 
fortune. 

Wild thoughts flew through his mind. He had 
left his home to amass fortune. It was within his 
grasp. How could he utilize his knowledge? 


A BOLD ATTEMPT 


55 


CHAPTER VIII. 

A BOLD ATTEMPT, 

Rising to his feet, the young man replaced the 
papers where he had found them. He had no fear 
of their being removed, and thought that, if he 
should take them away, the old man might miss 
them, and the scheme which had begun to form in 
his mind would be defeated. Closing the door, he 
blew out the light and retired. 

He found it difficult to sleep. Visions of a cave, 
lined and paved with glittering gold, came before 
his eyes whenever he closed them. Finally he 
drifted off into slumber. He had determined what 
course to pursue ere he did so, and, with the rap- 
turous feeling which comes to all at the prospect of 
the gratification of desires, he slept soundly. 

He was awakened by feeling some one touch his 
arm. He aroused himself, and glanced sleepily 
around him. The sun was endeavoring to force 
his way into the room through the closed shutters, 
and tiny gleams and golden arrows of light rested 
upon the floor and across the foot of the bed. 

The old doctor was standing by his bedside. 

“ You have been sleeping a long time,” he re- 
marked, as Roscoe opened his eyes. 

“ Have I? What is the hour,” cried the young 
man, sitting up in bed. 

“ Nearly nine,” replied the old man., 

Roscoe whistled in surprise. 

“ By jove! I have slept long,” he exclaimed. 


56 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


The old man drew a chair up to the side of the 
bed. 

“ I let you sleep,” he said. “ I have been to the 
saloon where we first met. The man you struck is 
not dead, but very near it. The doctors at the hos- 
pital, where he was conveyed, think they can bring 
him around.” 

“ I am glad of that,” remarked the young man. 
“ I would dislike to think that I had killed a man.” 

“ You would not have been to blame,” answered 
his companion. “ You might have lost your own 
life before you left that place, and your blow came 
just in time to save me. But I will leave you. I 
suppose you will relish your breakfast, although 
you will eat it at dinner time. I will go below and 
prepare it.” So saying, he left the room. Roscoe 
was not long in dressing. After he had assumed 
his clothing and assured himself that his few valu- 
ables were all right, he went to the drawer to assure 
himself that the papers were still there. He found 
them just as he had left them. Old Marsden had 
not disturbed them. He closed the drawer, and 
none too soon, for, as he was turning away from it, 
the old man entered the room again. 

“ Your breakfast is ready,” he announced, and 
Roscoe, being hungry, followed him silently out of 
the room and down the rickety stairs. 

The old man led the way to a room which Roscoe 
had not seen the previous night, a room to the 
left of the hallway, and where he found a very invit- 
ing meal spread out upon a small oak table. He 
sat down to it, and did ample justice to the viands. 


A BOLD ATTEMPT 57 

The old man sat watching him while he ate, saying 
but little, and anticipating his every want. 

The meal over, a box of cigars was produced 
from a closet in the corner of the room, and the 
two men sat down to enjoy the fragrant weed, which 
was of fine quality. But little passed between 
them, the old man making mere trifling remarks 
occasionally, Roscoe replying as the question or 
remark required. 

The afternoon passed by, and the lamp was 
lighted in the doctor’s study or museum, before 
Roscoe had come to any conclusion as to the man- 
ner in which he would approach the peculiar old 
man. 

They were sitting smoking, when George said, 
casually : 

“ You said last night that all of your wealth 
would go to your daughter at your death? ” 

“ Every penny of it,” replied the old man. 

“She will be very wealthy at your death,” re- 
marked the young man. 

“ Yes.” 

“ You are a strange man.” 

“ Do you think so? ” 

“Yes; a very strange man.” He knocked the 
ashes off the end of his cigar with his little finger; 
then turned and faced his companion. 

“ I want to tell you of a strange discovery made 
by me,” he said, looking the old man in the eye. 

The herbalist started, and his wrinkled face grew 
pale. 


A PRIVATE DETECTILE 


58 

** Discovery!** he cried, in a harsh voice; “ when, 
what?** 

Roscoe could see that he was agitated; but, as he 
had started, he determined^to continue, so he said: 

“A discovery made by accident in the room where 
I slept last night. You are a somnambulist.” The 
old man’s face was working. “What of that?” he 
cried. 

“ I was lying in my bed, nearly asleep, when I 
saw you enter the room. I thought at first that 
you were awake, but afterward found that you 
were asleep and under a somnambulistic influence. 
I watched you.” 

The old man sprang to his feet. 

" What did you see? ” he cried, eagerly. “ Tell 
me. Tell me.” 

“ I saw you go to a drawer in the chest of draw- 
ers which forms a part of the furniture of the room, 
and take out some papers,” replied Roscoe, quietly. 

“ My God! You saw this! You saw this,” mut- 
tered the old man. 

“ Yes. I saw you. Suffice it to say I know the 
contents of those papers. Overcome by curiosity, 
I read them after you had left the room. I know 
all.” 

Jason Marsden threw his withered hands above 
his head; his aged face working, his hair falling 
about his face. “ Know all,” he mumbled. “All 
my secret discovered.” 

His agony of spirit was distressing to behold. 
The young man sat and watched him. Suddenly, 
with a mighty effort, the old man grew calm. His 


A BOLD ATTEMPT 59 

face assumed its natural expression; he arranged 
his hair with one hand. 

“ You know my secret,’* he said, quietly; “ know 
my name and all that I have kept hidden. Well, 
how do you propose to act in the matter?’* The 
question, asked so quietly, so coolly, took Roscoe 
somewhat by surprise. The first action of the old 
man had been a natural one, under the circum- 
stances; but the sudden change surprised the 
young adventurer. 

“ I have not quite made up my mind,” he an- 
swered, hesitatingly. 

“ Not made up your mind?’* cried Marsden, in 
apparent surprise. “ You know the secret of untold 
wealth, and have not made up your mind what to 
do with it? That is strange. ” 

Roscoe fidgeted in his chair under the piercing 
glance of the old man. He had come to a conclu- 
sion what to do, but he could not bring himself to 
mention it. At last he nerved himself, and said: 

“ I had thought of making a proposition to you. ’* 

Marsden smiled cynically. “Oh. Yo\xhadf^* 
he remarked. 

“ Yes.” 

“ Let me hear it. ** 

The sentence was spoken so quietly that the 
young man felt emboldened to speak. So he sat 
firmly in his chair, and said: “ You are an old man, 
and cannot live much longer at any rate. When 
you die, the young girl who thinks she is your 
daughter, will be left without a protector. I am 
not a bad man at heart, I saw the beautiful creat- 


6o 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


ure; I love her. Give her to me as my wife, and 
she will be tenderly cared for. I, of course, will 
claim her wealth. I will admit that I am merce- 
nary, but you will agree with me that it would be 
better for her, even if it did benefit me.” 

The old man had listened with an outward show 
of calmness. His face gave no sign of his thoughts. 
When Roscoe had finished, he asked: 

“ Then, you want my Nellie and her vast wealth 
for yourself ? ” 

“ Yes,” boldly. 

“ And if I refuse—” 

Roscoe’s face grew hard and stern. “ Then, I 
will go to her and tell her you are not her father, 
I will go to this cave and enrich myself in spite of 
you.” 

“ Then, you are not a man,” said Marsden. 

Roscoe arose to his feet. “ Yes, I am a man,” 
he replied. ” But I have the natural craving that 
comes to every man to obtain wealth and the 
power it brings. My proposition will not affect 
you. You will not have any use for this wealth 
when you are gone. You are not using it even 
now.” 

“ True,” replied the old man. “ But one thing 
more. Suppose I were to say to you that I would 
enrich you without intrusting the happiness of my 
darling in your hands, would not that satisfy you? ” 

Roscoe hesitated. His soul was on fire for the 
beautiful maiden. His heart yearned for her. He 
thought the old man would yield. His action to 
him was an evidence of weakness. 


A BOLD ATTEMPT 6l 

“ No,” he cried. " I want her. The wealth will 
come with her.” 

The action of the old man startled him. He 
sprang to his feet, his piercing eyes flashing, his face 
set and stern. “ Then, I say to you that you shall 
have neither the one nor the other,” he hissed 
through his teeth. “ My darling is for no one but 
me! She is a part of myself, and, even if you were 
to go to her and tell her what you have discov- 
ered, she would not understand you, my power is 
so great over her. Base, designing, calculating 
scoundrel. You shall be defeated! I have been 
trying you! I have found you lacking,” and, 
before Roscoe could collect his thoughts, he seized 
the lamp and hurried from the room. The next 
moment the young man heard the clicking of a 
bolt in the lock, and knew that he was locked in. 

He threw himself against the door, but found it 
strong. He could not leave the room. He was a 
prisoner! 

He turned to retrace his steps to the chair he 
had occupied. As he did so he struck the skeleton 
which hung suspended from the ceiling. He 
started back in affright. He felt awed and fright- 
ened. Alone, surrounded by uncouth and weird 
relics, not ten feet from a ghastly skeleton, he 
found the chair and threw himself upon it. 

His mind began to form some idea as to the old 
man’s intentions. Did he propose to keep him con- 
fined within the house ? He could hardly bring 
himself to believe that, and yet it was possible. 
He held the old man’s secret. He treasured it 


62 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


highly. Would he allow him to go free, possessed 
of this knowledge? 

Then he began to think of what he would do if 
he managed to secure his liberty. The old man 
must be feeble. He could return to the house, and 
by force or cunning secure the papers, and then go 
to the cave of gold and enrich himself. “ I was a 
fool not to accept his offer,” he muttered at last. 
But, like many others, he was not satisfied to accept 
enough. He wanted all, and the prospects were 
that he would get nothing. His cogitations were 
interrupted by the sound of approaching footsteps. 
The next moment the door opened and Jason 
Marsden entered the room, carrying the lamp in 
one hand, the bundle of papers in the other. His 
actions were quick and wild. His eyes glared with 
a peculiar light. He approached the desk near 
which Roscoe sat, and placed the lamp upon it. 
“ There,” he muttered; “ I am going to make it 
impossible for you to do me harm, or benefit your- 
self. Ha, ha ! dp you think that the old wizard, 
the man of knowledge, Jason Marsden, will permit 
an almost beardless boy to rob him of his treasures ? 
No ! I will show you, I will show you.” 

His mumbling tone and hysterical laughter 
alarmed the young man. He sat and watched him 
nervously. Suddenly, a gleam of truth came to 
him: The old man was crazed ! His eyes gave in- 
dication of it. His manner proved it. He glanced 
nervously toward the door. It was closed and 
locked. There was a spring lock upon it, that 
worked from the other side, and Roscoe knew that 


A DESPERATE STRUGGLE FOR LIFE 6$ 

he was alone with a madman. But further thought 
was driven from his mind by the action of the other. 
The madman removed the globe from the lamp, 
and said, in a sibilant whisper: 

“ Watch me! You shall see how I intend to de- 
feat you. I will not injure myself! I know the 
spot where the millions in gold are awaiting my 
coming! You shall never see them! See! I destroy 
all written knowledge. My brain alone shall hold 
the secret,’' and he held the papers in the blaze of 
the lamp. 


CHAPTER IX. 

A DESPERATE STRUGGLE FOR LIFE. 

The dry papers caught readily, and burned 
quickly. The young man felt as if he had been 
struck a heavy blow. He saw that all his hopes 
would be destroyed in a minute. With a muttered 
oath, he sprang forward and grappled with the old 
man. He found he had underrated the strength of 
the old man. His muscles were like iron; his aged 
form powerful and strong. So sudden and unex- 
pected, however, had been his attack, that the 
herbalist was not prepared for him. The papers 
fell burning to the floor, and Roscoe set his foot 
upon them, and extinguished the fire. Marsden 
saw the action, and, with a snarl of rage, pressed 
the young man back. His hands were upon his 
throat. Roscoe felt his breath leaving his body. 
Desperately he struggled, essaying to overpower 
his aged but powerful antagonist. His feet were 


64 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


braced against the legs of the desk, and he began 
to gain an advantage, when suddenly the legs of 
the old article of furniture gave way, they could 
not stand the strain put upon them, and the desk 
fell with a crash to the floor, carrying the lamp 
with it, and striking the old man a fearful blow 
upon the temple. He fell to the floor without a 
groan. Roscoe, breathless and panting, fell back 
upon his chair. He was nearly overcome. 

The room was in darkness. He sat for a few 
moments, and then recollecting that the papers, or 
that portion of them still unconsumed, were under 
the desk, he arose to his feet and tried to raise the 
heavy piece of furniture. His efforts were useless. 
He could not budge the desk. Suddenly a faint, 
peculiar odor assailed his nostrils. Where had he 
smelt such an odor before? He sniffed the air. 
Chloroform! He recognized it at once. A bottle 
of the anaesthetic must have been in the desk, and 
had been broken in the fall. 

The fumes of the powerful drug filled the apart- 
ment. He felt his head growing dizzy. He rushed 
toward the door. He pounded on it with his 
hands. Useless. It was securely fastened. 

" My God! I will die here,’' he cried. 

He began to lose his reason. Staggering, reel- 
ing, he crossed the apartment. He could not 
think. A roaring sound was in his ears. With a 
cry to Heaven^ he threw his arms out before him 
and fell. His hands came in contact with a smooth 
substance. A crash, the sound of broken glasS| 
and he knew no more. 


A DESPERATE STRUGGLE FOR LIFE 65 

How long he remained unconscious, he never 
knew. When he came to himself a feeling of great 
and almost overpowering heat oppressed him. He 
struggled to his feet, and looked about him in a 
dazed, uncertain manner. He found that in falling 
he had broken through a sash, which had been 
partially concealed by a robe of wolf-skin hung over 
it. He could feel the cool, fresh air coming in 
through the opening, and, more, the floor of the 
room in which he was, was slowly burning. From 
this came the overpowering heat. 

The overturned and broken lamp had set fire to 
the skins and rugs upon the floor, and they had in 
turn ignited the floor. 

He looked about him. What could he do? The 
fire was rapidly increasing in volume, and he knew 
that in a few moments the old house would be in 
flames. He must escape or perish. Without fur- 
ther thought, he clambered through the broken 
window, and found himself in a sort of out-house 
that communicated with a narrow alley. Into this 
he sprang, and from there out to the street. There 
was no one in sight. The hour was late. He 
looked up at the dingy building. It was dark and 
seemingly desolate. He knew that, before long, it 
would be in flames unless something was done. He 
did not think of the beautiful blind girl probably 
asleep in the house. Neither did he think of the 
insensible old man lying upon the floor of the room 
he had just left. He was not entirely over the ef- 


A Private Detective 5 


66 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


fects of the drug. His mind was still dazed and 
bewildered. He thought only of the fire. 

Rushing like a mad man along the street, he 
reached the Bowery. It was not deserted. Hun- 
dreds of men and women were passing to and fro. 
A policeman stood upon the corner. To him he 
went. “ Fire!’* he gasped. “ An old house down 
the street. ” 

The officer gazed at him suspiciously. No won- 
der — hatless, with a white, scared face, he pre- 
sented an uncanny appearance. The policeman 
seized him by the arm. 

“ What are you talkin’ about? ” he demanded. 

“ Fire,” repeated Roscoe. “ Don’t delay! You 
must be quick, or all will be lost! Come! I will 
show you. I just escaped by the skin of my 
teeth.” 

The officer, by this time, grasped his meaning. 
He sprang quickly into a neighboring saloon. In 
a few moments the fire-bells began to ring. The 
officer knew that there were a number of firemen in 
the beer saloon, as they made it their headquar- 
ters. All was confusion in a short time. Roscoe 
still stood upon the corner, holding onto a lamp- 
post. A fire engine dashed past him. As he saw 
it, like a flash came to him the fact that the girl and 
the old man were in the house. He had not 
thought of them before. “ They will perish,” he 
thought, and, without another moment’s thought, 
he ran back in the direction of the house, which, 
by this time, was one seething mass of flame. He 
could see the bright glare lighting up the street; 


A DESPERATE STRUGGLE FOR LIFE 


men, women and children were running in the 
direction of the burning building; there was a large 
crowd gathered in front of it when he arrived. 

The firemen were laboring as hard as they pos- 
sibly could to extinguish the flames, but they had 
come too late. The building was old and dry, and 
was surely doomed. With a wild cry, Roscoe 
darted up the narrow alley that led to the rear of 
the house. Smoke and flame surged down upon 
him, scorching his face, burning the hair from his 
head, but he seemed to feel it not. “ Come back,” 
shouted many voices; “ you will get killed. ” But 
he continued on, battling with the flames, strug- 
gling through the blinding choking smoke. 

“ I must save her!” he muttered, an insane idea 
taking possession of his soul. On, on, and then a 
wave of flame surged down upon him, forcing him 
back, and he fell helpless. Two firemen had hurried 
after him up the alley, and, as he fell, they picked 
him up, and carried him burned, scorched, nearly 
dead, into the street, and safe beyond the reach of 
the flames. As they placed him in an ambulance, 
the house fell with a loud crash, and the greedy, 
exultant flames leaped up toward the sky. “ Good- 
bye to any one inside this house/’ muttered one of 
the firemen. 

Good-bye indeed, a long, last farewell. 

A groan went up from the multitude, a groan of 
pity, for many of them knew who made the ram- 
shackle old house his home, and some had seen 
the beautiful blind girl. 


68 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


George Roscoe heard it not. He was uncon- 
scious, and not far from the jaws of death! 


CHAPTER X. 

RECOVERY AND FRESH SCHEMES. 

For three months George Roscoe was confined 
to his bed. He had come very near to the dark 
river, and it was only the most persistent efforts 
on the part of the physician, and the most careful 
nursing, that brought him safely through. On the 
third of August he left the hospital; he was almost 
penniless, and his once handsome face was not 
yet free from the mark left there by the fire; but, 
despite all that was against him, he still had his 
indomitable will, his never-dying pluck to back 
him up; and his determination to amass wealth 
without much hard work, was as firm and resolute 
as ever. “ I failed the first time,” he muttered, as 
he walked aimlessly along Broadway; “ but that 
is no reason why I should give up in dispair. 
If I had been given a little time to think, I 
would have acted differently but there is no use 
of crying over spilt milk; I must try again, another 
opportunity will show itself.” 

He made up his mind to leave New York City; 
the far West had an attraction for him; from the 
very reason that the cave of gold was located 
somewhere in the Rocky Mountains, and he had 
some vague idea of trying to find it at some time. 
He took account of the amount of money he had 
on hand, and found he was possessed of exactly 


RECOVERY AND FRESH SCHEMES 69 

$15.90. “ Not much/’ he muttered, with a grim 

smile, as he counted it over; “ but men have often 
made a fortune off of less than this.” 

The balance of his money had been expended for 
many things required by him during his illness. 

His mind made up, he walked briskly toward 
the railroad depot. He arrived just ten minutes 
before a train was about to start for Philadelphia. 
Purchasing a ticket, he took his seat in the car, 
and soon the train rolled out. In those days rail- 
roads were not what they are at the present time. 
Traveling was not the luxury that it is to-day. 
The trains were slower, and the stops more 
numerous. Express trains were comparatively 
unknown, the train stopping every few miles if any 
one of the passengers desired. Railroads were 
then run for the accommodation of the public. 
Slowly the train pursued its way. Night came on, 
and it was nearly nine o’clock when Roscoe stepped 
off the cars and onto the ferry boat at Camden, 
New Jersey, that was to carry him across the Dela- 
ware river to the city of brotherly love. He did 
not stay long in the Quaker City. In the early 
morning he was again on his way farther west. 
The second train was crowded, and it was with 
difficulty that he found a seat. He managed at 
last, however, to secure accommodations, and, being 
very tired, he fell asleep. He was awakened rather 
rudely and unpleasantly by a severe shock, and, 
springing to his feet, found the car oscillating fear- 
fully from side to side. He grasped the situation 
at once. There had been a collision on the road. 


70 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


He saw that the car was turning over, and so, with- 
out a moment’s hesitation, broke through the wide 
window of the car which was near him, and plunged 
headlong through the opening. He fell on his 
face, and slid along some distance, scratching him- 
self somewhat, but, aside from that, receiving but 
little injury. 

His action had been none too soon, for he had 
no sooner arisen to his feet, and was looking about 
him in a dazed, confused manner when the train 
toppled over, engine and all, and, amidst shrieks 
of agony from the unfortunate passengers, and a 
cloud of dust, smoke and steam, crashed down the 
side of the embankment. 

He stood for a moment horrified. The next he 
hurried to the scene of the wreck. He saw that 
the passenger train had collided with a heavily 
loaded freight that had been coming from the op- 
posite direction. The freight engine had been 
thrown from the track, and the passenger train was 
completely wrecked. 

Those of the passengers who had not been in- 
jured, together with the crew of the freight train 
and the uninjured ones of the passenger crew, 
were by this time hard at work, trying to extricate 
the injured and dead from the wreck. A large 
number of the passengers had been killed, crushed 
and mangled almost beyond recognition. The 
scenes of distress and heart-rending sorrow were 
terrible to behold. Here a loving husband tore 
his hair as he bemoaned the fate of his wife. 
There a widowed woman filled the air with her 


RECOVERY AND FRESH SCHEMES 7 1 

cries. Fathers and mothers wept and groaned, 
and sent up agonizing prayers to God for their 
children. Children bewailed the death of parents. 
George Roscoe was a tender-hearted young man; 
mercenary, unscrupulous, perhaps, but tender- 
hearted withal. The scene before him oppressed 
him. The cries of agonizing grief went to his 
heart. He sprang to the spot where the work was 
thickest. Manfully he labored, tenderly he as- 
sisted in removing from the debris crushed and 
broken bodies, horribly disfigured corpses. As 
he was working in the body of one of the cars, lift- 
ing up timbers, fragments of seats, etc., a faint 
moan came to his ears. He thought at first that 
he had been mistaken, and, after listening for a 
while for a repetition of the sound, continued in his 
work; but it came again, more distinctly this 
time. 

“ Is any one near here alive? ” he called. 

“ For God’s sake help me, ” came the answer, in 
a woman’s voice. 

“ That I will,” he cried, cheerily. 

" Where are you? ” 

“ Not far from where you are,” came the reply. 
“ I can see you. I cannot extricate myself, as I am 
held down by a heavy timber. I think one of my 
legs is broken.” 

A cry of pity escaped his lips. He had listened 
attentively while the woman had been talking, and, 
when she finished, had located her. Yes, upon 
close examination, he could see a portion of her 
clothing. He worked his way toward her, and by 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


72 

desperate endeavor reached the spot. She had 
spoken truly; she was held down by a heavy timber, 
probably one of the cross-beams of the car. 

“ I do not think I can extricate you from your 
uncomfortable position without assistance,” he 
said, as he saw how she was situated, “ but I will 
try,” and he did. P'or an hour he worked, and at 
last was gratified to see that he had succeeded in 
removing the principal beam that held her down. 
In a short time she was free. The lady proved to 
be a young woman, not over five and twenty, and 
beautiful. She thanked him for his efforts in her 
behalf, but complained greatly of the pain in her 
limb. The young man, with her permission, 
examined it, and found the leg broken in two places, 
a compound fracture. 

“ I must get you out of here,” he said, cheerfully. 
“ I suppose you cannot stand much pain? ” 

I have stood a great deal already,” she replied. 

“ That you have,” he cried. “ You have been a 
brave woman. I must ask you to try and stand a 
little more. I must move you, and it cannot be 
done without pain. Now bear up under it as much 
as possible; I will be as gentle as possible.” 

She replied that she would nerve herself to stand 
it, and he set about the difficult task. And it was 
a difficult task. The poor creature had been sub- 
jected to a fearful ordeal, and was suffering greatly; 
but she stood it better than many men could have 
done, although every movement brought a groan, 
and soon was free from the wreck. " Thank God!” 
she murmured, as she saw the blue sky and the 


RECOVERY AND FRESH SCHEMES 


73 


throng of people around her, and then she fainted, 
swooned upon the broad breast of George Roscoe, 
who had saved her life. It might have been better 
for her if he had left her to die. But I will not 
anticipate. As the young man gently laid her upon 
the greensward near by, an anxious, pale, distressed- 
looking man, of about thirty, hurried to the spot. 
He was a gentleman, beyond doubt; his features 
showed it. His rich, elegant dress was torn and 
ragged, his fine linen soiled and dirty. 

“ God I My wife,” he cried, as he drew near. 
Then he bent over her. “ Thank heaven, she is not 
dead,” he murmured. 

“ She would have been in a half-hour,” replied 
Roscoe. 

“ You saved her? ” inquired the man. 

Roscoe modestly explained how it came about. 
The poor husband grasped the young man’s hands 
fervidly; he shook them, while he overwhelmed 
him with thanks. His expressions of gratitude 
were so fervent that the young man actually 
blushed. 

“ I was only there by accident,” he stammered. 

Never mind. You saved her life,” cried the 
husband. You shall be rewarded.” 

“ I ask no reward,” replied Roscoe, blushing: “ I 
only acted as a man should. I do not wish to be 
paid for it.” 

The husband saw that he had wounded the 
young man’s feelings. 

Pardon me,” he cried, *T did not intend to of- 


74 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


fend you. Is there no way by which I can express 
my gratitude? ” 

“ You have done so already,” replied Roscoe, 
and then turned away. 

The young wife recovered consciousness. A 
physician, who was one of the passengers, an- 
nounced that the fracture was a serious one, and 
would take some time to heal, and so the anxious 
husband looked about him for a place to which she 
might be carried, and where she could remain un- 
til entirely over the effects of the injury. 

A place was found, a farm house, close by. 
As the suffering woman was laid upon a stretcher, 
to be carried to the house, she whispered some- 
thing in her husband’s ear. He nodded his head, 
in token of assent, and approached Roscoe, who 
was standing near. 

" Excuse me, sir,” said the husband, as he ap- 
proached. “ I have offended you once to-day. I 
do not care about doing so the second time. Will 
you take offense if I ask you a question?” 

Roscoe smiled. 

“I think not,” he replied. “What is it?” 
curiously. “ I take it from your costume that you 
are not wealthy. Are you in search of employ- 
ment?” 

The question surprised the young man. What 
could the man mean? 

“ Yes,” he replied, at last. “ I am sorely in need 
of employment.” 

A flush of pleasure came over the face of the 
other. 


RECOVERY AND FRESH SCHEMES 7$ 

“ Will you engage yourself to me? he asked, 
eagerly. 

“ In what capacity?” inquired the young man, 
doubtfully. 

“ To attend to the wishes of my wife, whose life 
you have saved. It is absolutely necessary that 
she should remain here until she has recovered. 
My business makes it impossible for me to remain 
with her continually, although I shall visit her 
every week. She feels that she would prefer to 
have you near her to a»ttend to her wants, rather 
than employ a stranger.” 

Roscoe hesitated, but not for long. He felt 
gratified at the offer, the preference shown him. 

“ If I can be of any assistance to you,” he said, 
slowly, “ I shall be only too glad to do so.” 

The husband seemed overcome with joy. 

“ Thank you,” he said. “ You can fix your own 
wages or salary. I shall not complain at the price, 
no matter what it is.” 

Ah, my warm-hearted friend, the price will be 
greater than you think. 

Roscoe made no reply, but silently followed the 
husband to the stretcher. 

“ He has agreed,” cried the husband, to the 
injured one. 

“ Thank you,” she murmured, looking up at the 
young man from under her long lashes. He 
remembered that look. It was significant. The 
stretcher was carried to the farm-house, followed 
by the husband and George Roscoe. 


76 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


CHAPTER XL 

" WHEN LOVELY WOMAN STOOPS TO FOLLY, ” ETC. 

The house to which the young wife was carried 
was one of those large, rambling, old-fashioned 
edifices that had been built probably m the time of 
the revolution. It was built of stone, roughly 
plastered on the outside, and painted yellow. 
Large dormer windows projected from the roof, 
and were fitted with thick, heavy sashes, set with 
small panes of glass. The house was nearly hid- 
den by the maple and butternut trees that grew 
around it, and the effect of the yellow building 
nestling among the trees was a pleasing one to 
the eye. 

The good wife of the farmer had her “ spare ” 
room in order, ready to receive the guest forced 
upon her hospitality, and before long the infirm 
woman was settled as comfortably as it was pos- 
sible to be in the large four-post bedstead. 

During the day the physician set the injured 
limb, and then calling in the local physician, a 
young man, but as smart as a whip, he left the fair 
one in his hands. The husband wished to send to 
Philadelphia for a surgeon, but the doctor who 
had been on the train said that it was not neces- 
sary; he knew the young local doctor, and said 
that the wife would be perfectly safe in his hands, 
and would be well cared for, and so the anxious 
husband accepted his word, and expressed himself 
as satisfied. 


LOVELY WOMAN 


77 


The wt*eck was removed in a few hours^ and the 
husband, who was upon important business, informed 
Roscoe that he would be obliged to continue his 
journey, as he could not well afford to lose any 
more time than was actually necessary. “ You 
will see to her wants,’* he said, as he stood outside 
the house, ready to go to the train. “ I believe 
you are a careful man, and will take good care of 
her. If you need any money, or anything in fact, 
telegraph me to this address. I will be back in a 
week.” 

So saying, he handed the young man a card, and 
also gave him a sum of money. “ For immediate 
use,” he exclaimed, and was gone. 

Roscoe read the name and address upon the card. 
It was as follows: 

"Alvin Davis, 

"63 Seventh Ave., Pittsburgh, Pa.” 

He mechanically thrust the money into his pocket, 
and placed the card inside his pocket-book. Then 
he strolled into the house. He almost laughed as 
he walked along the hall, his life had undergone 
such a change during the past twenty-four hours. 
He had left New York almost penniless, with no 
prospects, and now by accident he was intrusted 
with the care of a lovely woman, with the prospects 
of liberal compensation for his services, and although 
he felt that he would not get suddenly and rapidly 
wealthy, still he liked the position, enjoying the 
novelty of it. 

He entered the room where the young woman 
lay propped up in bed. The young doctor was 


78 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


there arranging everything for the comfort of the 
patient. He gave Roscoe minute instructions as 
to his duties, and then took his departure. 

Roscoe made a good nurse. He had studied 
anatomy, physiology and hygiene while at college, 
and understood much that was to be done. The 
days passed by. At the end of the week the hus- 
band returned. He was gratified to see that his 
wife was improving rapidly, and overwhelmed 
George with thanks for his careful attention. The 
young woman had told him how gentle and kind 
the nurse had been. Mr. Davis remained for a few 
days. His business necessitated his presence, and 
he could not stay away from it long. So in a few 
days he once more took his departure. 

Roscoe accompanied him to the station when he 
le-ft. As he stepped upon the train, he passed a 
bank note into the young man’s hand ; the next mo- 
ment he was gone. 

Roscoe glanced at the note. It was for $ioo. 

“ This may not be such a bad thing for me, after 
all,” he muttered, as he retraced his steps toward 
the farm house. Mrs. Davis was awaiting his 
return. “ I feel so lonely when you are away,” she 
murmured, as he entered the room. 

“ I am glad that you enjoy my society,” he 
replied, respectfully. 

“ Why should I not ? You are my preserver,” 
she said, with one of those significant looks which 
women can use so effectually. 

The young man could not understand her. He 
was trying hard to read her character ; the mean- 


LOVELY WOMAN 


79 


ing of those glances which she had used more than 
once. “I will know in time,” he thought, as he 
sat down upon a chair near to her bedside. “ Shall 
I read to you,” he asked her, as he drew the chair 
closer to the bed. 

“ If you please,” she murmured. 

He had purchased some books, magazines and 
the like, at the village store; he selected one of 
these, and read aloud to her for two hours. The 
story was one of love. He was a good reader, his 
voice was sympathetic and melodious, the story was 
a sad one, and, when he laid down the book and 
looked at her, he found that she was in tears. 

“ You are easily affected,” he remarked. 

” My heart is tender,” she replied. 

Day after day he would read to her, noticing 
that she hung upon his words, enraptured, her 
large eyes fixed full upon his face as he read. 
Gradually it dawned upon his mind that the woman 
loved him. She had never, by word of mouth, 
given him to understand that such was the case; 
but actions speak louder than words, and the eager, 
wistful look in the liquid eyes, the involuntary sigh 
that escaped her ever and anon, told their story. 

A month passed, and another; by the end of the 
second month she was able to be out of bed. The 
fall of the year had come ; October, with its golden 
leaves and ripened fruit, was upon them. The doc- 
tor advised moderate exercise upon the injured 
limb as one of the best means of strengthening it; 
and so Roscoe and the young wife took long walks 
into the woods, and through the fields. He had 


8o 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


always acted toward her with the greatest respect; 
he did not take advantage of her now very evident 
infatuation; he was waiting, the time had not yet 
come. 

It came at last. They had been strolling through 
the forest, and she had sat down upon a moss- 
covered log to rest; he was reclining at her feet; 
the day was a fine one, bright, cheerful, peaceful. 

She sat looking upon his face, while he was 
gazing up at a patch of blue sky, which could be 
seen above the trees; he was evidently thinking; 
she remarked as much. 

“ Your thoughts are far away,” she said* 

He recovered himself with a start. 

" No,” he replied, reddening; “ my thoughts 
were quite close.” 

“ Of what were you thinking? ” 

Of you,” he answered, looking her in the eyes. 

She averted her face. 

" Of me,” she murmured, absently. 

“Yes. You are nearly well now; you will go 
your way in a short time, and I — ” and he 
hesitated, his voice sounding sad, bitter. 

“ Yes; and you,” she murmured. 

“ I shall never see you again.” 

" Why not? ” she asked; in surprise. 

He took her hand; she made no effort to with- 
draw it. Quickly, passionately, he cried: 

“ I will tell you why. It is better that I should 
not. Do not feel offended at what I am about to 
say, do not censure, nor blame me; I could not 
help it; I love you; to me you are as an angel; 


LOVELY WOMAN 


8l 


for weeks I have, unknown to you, feasted my eyes, 
satisfied my heart with your beauty; you are the 
wife of another; it is a crime for me to love you, 
but I could not, cannot help it; so we had better 
part; it is best that you will soon leave me; I 
shall suffer, but I am accustomed to it.” 

Duringhis impassioned speech, her face hadgrown 
pale and red by turns. He could see her volup- 
tuous breast heaving, detect the tears in her eyes. 
He released her hand, and made a movement as 
though to rise to his feet. She detained him. 

“ Listen, George,” she murmured; “ you have 
told me your story, now hear mine. You say you 
love me. God help me; I love you. There, you 
know it; it is a greater sin for me than for you, but 
God has given me a heart. I cannot guide it in the 
path of duty. I have a husband, but I love you.” 

A glad cry escaped his lips. He stood as if car- 
ried away by her words, then he opened his arms, 
and she threw herself into them. 

His blood tore and surged through his veins; her 
beautiful head resting upon his breast, her lovely 
mouth, through which the warm, perfumed breath 
was coming in quick, passionate gasps, bewitched 
him. He pressed a hot, burning kiss upon the 
beautiful lips — pressed her close to him. 

Above their heads the birds sang and chirped. 
Around them the bees and insects hummed. The 
soft wind soughed through the tree-tops, whisper- 
ing love, peace. 

For many hours they remained in the solitude, 

A Private Detective 6 


82 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


surrounded by the works of God; then they rose 
and returned to the house. 

George Roscoe had proven a traitor to the man 
who had trusted him; and she, the wife, was no 
longer pure. God has given us passions. Should 
we be blamed for carrying ,out the work of the 
Almighty? 

Sin and crime comes to us, but love often sug- 
gests; and, in the heat of passion, much is done 
that will be regretted in the years to come. 

We shall see wherein George Roscoe and Mabel 
Davis had cause to regret. 

Sin always brings its punishment. 

It may not be in years; but it comes, sure. 


CHAPTER XII. 

WHAT CAME FROM IT. 

Mabel grew rapidly better. In a few weeks the 
doctor announced her well enough to leave the 
farm-house. The husband was present at the 
time, and expressed his satisfaction at the doctor’s 
decision. 

“ I have led a miserable life without her,” he 
said. ‘‘ My house will seem bright to me now.” 

To Roscoe he expressed himself in the most 
grateful manner. He forced a large sum of money 
upon him, and insisted upon him visiting them if 
he came to Pittsburgh. 

The man and his wife were to leave by the morn- 
ing train; this was at night that the conversation 
spoken of took place. George had no intention of 


WHAT CAME FROM IT 


83 


giving up the prize he had won; he felt in his heart 
that she would agree to do as he would dictate, 
and he determined upon a bold move. He left 
the room, conveying a message to the faithless 
wife by a signal as he did so. The signal said, 
“ Meet me outside.” 

She knew the spot where he would be waiting, 
and so in a short time managed to leave the room 
without fear of suspicion on the part of her husband. 

The trysting-place was not far from the house, in 
a small grove of maple trees. The adventurer was 
awaiting her coming. As she stepped into the 
shade of the trees, he advanced toward her and 
took her hand. 

“ And so to-morrow we part,” he said, bitterly. 

She turned her eyes. 

“ Not forever,” she answered, in a low tone. 

“ We shall meet again, then,” he cried! 

“ Do you think I could live without you?” she 
murmured, reproachfully. 

He led her to a rustic bench beneath the trees, 
and, seating her, sat down beside her. 

“ Mabel, my darling,” he began, “ you have said 
that you could not live without me. Need I say 
that death would to me be preferable to life, without 
you! I am a man; my heart has never been given 
to woman before. O God! how I love you! You 
are going away. It may be many days before we 
meet again. This parting is cruel! cruel to both 
of us. We must meet again, and soon, never to 
part again! ” He spoke in a determined tone. She 
looked up into his face. 


84 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


What do you mean? ” she whispered, her voice 
trembling. 

“ I mean this: You love me; I love you. You 
are bound by the laws of man to a man you do not 
love. By the laws of God you are mine. I have 
the best right to call you mine, and I have deter- 
mined that I will! You must leave your husband! 
Not to-night, nor to-morrow; but in a few weeks. 
I am poor; have no money, no place to take you; 
but in a few weeks things may be different. Will 
you do this? ” 

She looked about her nervously. He could 
feel her trembling all over, as though suffering 
from cold. At last she burst into tears. 

“ I cannot refuse you,” she sobbed. “ I know I 
shall be miserable without you. I will do as you 
ask.” 

My own treasure,” he murmured, and enfolded 
her in his arms. She lay there, the convulsive 
sobs shaking her form. For an hour they remained 
together, and, when they parted, everything was 
arranged for the elopement. 

She told him that her husband had settled $io,- 
ooo on her at the time of their marriage, which 
she could command. She had also inherited 
nearly $15,000 from her mother, so she was 
wealthy. 

You can have the money to start in the world 
with,” she said, resting her tiny white hand upon 
his arm. “ And far from all who know me, we 
shall be happy.” 

The victory was easier won than he had thought, 


WHAT CAME FROM IT 


85 


and that night, lying upon his bed, he 'congratu- 
lated himself upon his success. No qualm of con- 
science annoyed him, no feeling of remorse or 
shame disturbed his slumbers; he slept as soundly 
as he ever had done, and woke in the morning re- 
freshed and invigorated. 

Alvin Davis and his false wife left the farm-house 
that had sheltered her so many weeks, early the 
next morning. George Roscoe bade farewell to 
the same place at the same time. He was going to 
Pittsburgh on the same train that carried them. 
Davis seemed pleased that such was the case. He 
was a generous, noble-hearted man, and madly 
liked the treacherous scoundrel, who, even while in 
his company, was scheming and laying plans that 
would wreck the life and happiness of this noble 
man, perhaps forever. But he had no thought of 
suspicion. He would not have believed his wife 
untrue, if anyone had told him; he was true at 
heart himself, and could not conceive that she, 
whom beloved with an idolatrous adoration, would 
blast his life, and leave him broken-hearted. As 
for the man who had saved her life from the wreck, 
he believed him to be one of nature’s noblemen, 
and would have trusted him with all he possessed. 

They rode together all the way to the Smoky 
City, where they arrived early the following morn- 
ing. Davis insisted upon Roscoe accompanying 
himself and wife, and so, without much demur, the 
villain accepted the invitation. 

The residence of Alvin Davis was in the fashion- 
able quarter of the city, surrounded by the costly 


86 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


edifices of the wealthy, it held its own among them 
all. The interior was furnished luxuriously, mag- 
nificently, and the young husband took great 
pleasure, almost childish delight, in showing it all to 
the preserver of his darling wife’s life. 

As Roscoe looked about on all the evidences of 
wealth and refinement that met his eye no matter 
where he chanced to look, a disturbing thought 
came into his mind: “ Would the wife give up all 
this luxury for him? ” He did not understand a 
woman’s heart, did not know that a woman will 
give up even life itself to one she loves. He spoke 
to her about it that night while they were left 
alone for a few moment. Her answer set his 
doubts at rest. “ I would rather live in a garret 
with you, my love, than be unhappy, surrounded 
by everything that wealth can procure!” He 
knew she spoke the truth, and was satisfied. 

The night for the elopement was set; it came. 
Dark, there was no moon, with scudding clouds 
flying across the leaden sky. The wind blew a 
perfect hurricane; all the elements seemed to con- 
spire to prevent the base act on the part of the 
guilty wife and her paramour. But wind and 
storms mattered not. When a woman will, she 
will^ you can depend on’t, and Mabel Davis was 
resolved. She left her husband peacefully sleep- 
ing, and left the house unseen, unheard. Roscoe 
was waiting for her not far off, and, like two dark 
shadows, they glided along the deserted street. 

Roscoe assured himself that the woman had the 
money in her possession, and then took the first 


WHAT CAME FROM IT 


87 


step toward carrying out the scheme which he had 
formed in his mind, providing she agreed to go 
with him. 

They took the train for Cincinnati; from that 
point it was his intention to take passage for New 
Orleans upon one of the many palatial steamboats 
plying between the metropolis of Ohio and the 
great Southern city. Cincinnati was reached by 
dusk the following day. They drove to the finest 
hotel in the city, and registered as George Davis 
and wife. 

She, feeling tired, went to her room at once, but 
the young adventurer was too much elated over 
the success of his first attempt to sleep; yet he 
wanted to be alone for a while, alone to think, to 
congratulate himself. He walked out of the office 
of the hotel, and strolled along the street. A news- 
boy passed him. He purchased a paper, and, stop- 
ping before a brilliantly lighted saloon, glanced 
over the first column. No sooner had he done so 
than an exclamation of surprise and horror escaped 
his lips. He looked about him as if in fear, and 
then, crushing the paper in his hand, he almost ran 
in the direction of the hotel. He had seen some- 
thin*g in the paper which had caused conscience to 
act for the first time, and its biting stings made 
him a coward for the instant. 


88 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


CHAPTER XIII. 

FAILURE AGAIN 

Entering the hotel, George Roscoe ran up the 
stairs to the room where Mabel was waiting for 
him. He found her reclining in an easy-chair, her 
eyes half closed, evidently wrapped in thought. 
She half rose as he entered. 

“ I am so glad you have come," she murmured. 
“ I was getting so lonely." He made no reply to 
her, only threw himself heavily in a chair by her 
side, and handed her the paper. 

Sheturned her beautiful eyes upon him, an anxious 
expression in their lustrous depths. She had never 
seen him like that before; his actions worried and 
alarmed her. 

“ What is the matter, George? " she cried. 

He spread out the paper. 

“ Read that, " he cried, hoarsely. 

She followed with her eyes the spot where his 
finger marked, and read: 

HORRIBLE SUICIDE OF A PROMINENT MAN. 

“ A faithless wife and a traitor. 

“ The same old story: Man’s depravity, and 
woman’s worse than weakness." 

She turned as white as death when she read the 
staring headlines. Her guilty soul told her what 
followed. She nerved herself to read it all. 

When the servant, who for years has called his 
master, Mr. Alvin Davis, of 63 Seventh avenue, 
Pittsburgh, Pa. , at 6 o’clock a. m. , went into the 


FAILURE AGAIN 


89 


apartment of that gentleman this morning, he found 
the still warm body of the worthy gentleman 
stretched out upon the floor dead. In one hand 
he held a bottle labeled ‘ Laudanum. Poison,’ 
while in the other was crushed a letter. The serv- 
ant called in a doctor, but it was too late to do 
anything. Alvin Davis was dead. The letter 
which he clutched so tightly was removed from his 
hand by force and was read. It explained every- 
thing. We print it in full. 

“ * Alvin — When this reaches your eyes, I shall 
be far away. I am no longer worthy to be called 
your wife, not worthy of your great love. I love 
another. To him have I given my heart, and with 
him I have gone. I could not live without him. 
Forget me. 

** ‘ Mabel. 

“ The same old story, and the end of it the saddest 
we have ever heard. Alvin Davis was fairly 
wrapped up in his wife, and their married life had 
always been happy; but fate sent another man who 
won the affections of the weak-minded woman, 
who, alas, was too much of the woman to with- 
stand his smooth tongue and winning ways. 

“ To-day she is probably miles away in the arms 
of her paramour, while her broken-hearted husband 
lies a cold corpse alone in his elegant mansion. 
The traitor who took the young wife from her hus- 
band’s care is a murderer in the eyes of God, as 
much as though he plunged a knife in the heart of 
the man whose horrible fate we record.” 

The paper dropped from her hand. She had 


go 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


fainted. Roscoe sprang to her side, and tried to 
revive her. The shock was a terrible one to ner, 
and it was only by the most persistent efforts that 
he succeeded in bringing her to. After much per- 
severance the eyelids fluttered and raised, and she 
looked up into his face. 

“Is it true?” were the first words she faintly 
uttered. 

“ I am afraid it is,” he replied, sadly. 

She burst into tears. 

“ I am a murderess,” she sobbed. “ My action 
killed him! Oh, what can I do? what can I do? ” 

She wrung her hands in her misery and anguish. 

He took her hands in his own. 

“ Be calm,” he said, in a commanding tone. 
“ I feel as badly about this affair as you do. I 
never thought it would be as bad as it is; but 
weeping and wailing will not benefit either him or 
yourself. It is over. The step has been taken, 
and cannot be retraced. I am with you. I love 
you! We will leave this place as soon as possible; 
and, in the years to come, you will forget all. You 
love me, do you not? ” 

The tears flowed afresh. 

“ Yes, I love you,” she replied. “ My love for 
you has killed him. ” 

“ You must not look at it like that. You are not 
to blame for what has occurred. Do not censure 
yourself. Dismiss it from your mind, and be happy 
in my love.” 

She dried her tears, and looked him in the face. 


FAILURE AGAIN 


91 


“ Do you think happiness can come from such a 
love, after what has occurred? ” she asked. 

He averted his face. 

Do you not believe that the spirit of my 
deceived husband will come between us and curse 
our guilty intercourse? 

She asked the question in a tone that said, louder 
and plainer than a positive declaration would have 
done, that she believed that such would be the case. 

He felt alarmed at the turn things had taken. If 
she felt as she had spoken, perhaps she might do 
something desperate herself, and he would be 
thwarted. 

As he sat hesitating what to say, hardly knowing 
the best way to answer her question, suddenly 
there came to him the thought of old Jason Mars- 
den, and the statement he had made the first 
night they sat together in the old study. “ You 
have the power; only, in your case, it is not de- 
veloped,” he had said. What power? The power 
he had exercised over the blind girl, Nellie. His 
pulses beat rapidly. He felt a strange feeling of 
strength coming to him. He must have the power. 
He drew his chair close to that of the woman who 
was looking him in the eyes, waiting for him to an- 
swer. He had determined what course to pursue. 
Fixing his eyes upon hers, he began, in alow, sib- 
ilant whisper, to speak. 

“ Mabel,” he murmured, “ God made the world 
and all therein. He created man and woman, mak- 
ing one from the other. He gave us all passions 
of love, hatred, desire. He has made one ma-n for 


92 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


one woman, and in their hearts has implanted that 
knowledge which tells, at the proper time, when 
that one for which the other was created, draws 
near. You were created for me! I, for you! Your 
heart has spoken; it is speaking even now! The 
spirits of the dead do not return to those who have 
no sympathy for them ! You were not for the man, 
who, in his sorrow, has taken his life. If you had 
been, you would not have left him. He will not 
return to you. Look at me! Fix your eyes upon 
mine ! Let the love of my soul go forth from my 
eyes and encompass you. Let it satisfy you and 
bring peace and contentment.” 

As he spoke, he saw her face change, her eyes 
dilate. He kept his eyes full upon her, and, rising 
to his feet, made some passes with his hands before 
her face. The effect astonished him. The red lips 
parted in a smile. The love light came to her eyes. 
She rose, and glided toward him as if in a dream. 

She was in his power. 

He opened his arms, and she threw herself into 
them. She thought not of the corpse of the man 
who had rid himself of the burden of life, then. 
She saw, thought, only of George Roscoe, the man 
who enthralled her, whose slave she now was, 
bound heart and soul by the iron fetters of the 
strange power which had come to him so suddenly. 

He kissed her, pressing her to his breast, and, 
then conducting her to the couch upon the opposite 
side of the room, he soothed her into sweet repose. 
As she lay before him slumbering peacefully, a 
3mile came to his lips. 


FAILURE AGAIN 93 

“ She is mine now beyond any doubt,” he mur- 
mured. “ The power has come to me.” 

The following day they left Cincinnati; she still 
under the influence of the magic, supernatural 
spell. The steamer “Golden Key” left at 2:30 
p. m. for New Orleans, and upon it Roscoe took 
passage with the beautiful woman. He had not 
made any attempt as yet to obtain possession of 
the money, $25,000 in all, which she had in bills 
of large denomination concealed in her clothing. 
He knew he could get it at any time, and so did 
not worry himself about it. 

The trip down the Ohio and Mississippi is a 
pleasant one in summer, but not so agreeable in 
winter. The weather was growing decidedly chilly 
for the time of the year, and ice had begun to form 
in many places along the river; not enough to 
impede the progress of the steamer, but in sufficient 
quantities to be annoying. The “ Golden Key ” 
was quite a large boat, one of the largest that made 
the passage, and was fitted up magnificently. 
Roscoe and his companion had one of the most 
magnificent of the many fine state-rooms with 
which the steamer was fitted. 

The journey from Cincinnati to Memphis was 
unmarked by anything of interest, save the stops 
along the river, which, with their scenes of hurry 
and confusion, added novelty to the otherwise 
somewhat monotonous trip. 

At Memphis a slight diversion, laughable, 
although sad, changed the scene somewhat. 

An old negro, who was one of the deck hands. 


94 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


was the proud owner of a mongrel cur which re- 
joiced in the name of “Yaller,” being decidedly of 
an orange tint. The deck hand fairly idolized the 
brute, and, when not otherwise engaged (which 
was seldom), could be found petting and loving his 
four-footed companion. 

“ Ole * Yaller,* he lubs he old marster,” he said 
toRoscoeone day; “ an' I lubs * Yaller.' I ain't 
got no wife or chil'er, no money or nothin' else, 
but I has * Yaller,' an’ dat all I want.” 

As the steamer made her landing at the wharf- 
boat at Memphis, “ Yaller ” was lying asleep for- 
ward, and the jar of the boat, striking against the 
wharf, threw him overboard. The old negro saw 
the brute fall, and, without a moment’s hesitation, 
without removing coat, hat, or shoes, sprang over 
the side of the vessel after his pet. Too late ! The 
current carried the dog along the side of the steam- 
er, and the heavy paddle-wheels striking him, de- 
prived him of life. The negro saw it, and realized 
that his pet was dead. He gave utterance to a cry 
of sorrow and despair that touched the hearts of the 
majority of those who heard it. The deck hands 
fished the old man out of the water, and one of 
them recovered the body of the dog. The grief 
of the old man was touching, although his quaint 
expression of sorrow, as he moaned and wept over 
the stiff, wet body, caused a smile to come to the 
faces of some. 

He refused to be comforted, and could not be 
induced to work. The captain of the boat, a kind- 
hearted man, did not try to force him. The old 


FAILURE AGAIN 


95 


man had been running upon the boat for many 
years, and every one liked him, and so they excused 
him from labor, while the steamer remained in 
Memphis, and allowed him to mourn over his loss, 
behind a bale of cotton, secure from observation. 
The “ Golden Key ” did not stay in Memphis very 
long. In a few hours, just as soon as the freight 
was unloaded and taken on, she pushed out into 
the river, and continued on her course. 

And so several days passed by. They were 
soon steaming along the Mississippi, and Vicks- 
burgh was reached and passed. 

It is well known to most people that the great 
river is as treacherous as a hidden foe. Many a 
good steamer has gone to the bottom of the muddy 
river, from striking on snags which find their way 
into the ever-changing channel, and which no 
captain or pilot can always avoid. 

One night, about ten o’clock, and not over fifty 
miles below Vicksburgh, Roscoe, who had just 
fallen asleep, was thrown violently out of his bunk 
by a severe shock. The Golden Key ” ,had 
struck some solid object, and it had been this which 
had caused the sudden shock. Hurriedly he 
dressed himself, and ran down the companion-way 
to the deck. There he found all in confusion. The 
boat was leaking terribly. Suddenly he heard the 
captain’s voice : 

“ My lads, to the boats! ” he cried; “ the steamer 
is sinking I ” 

Sinking! The word struck like ice upon the 
heart of the young man. He had left Mabel sleep- 


96 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


ing; the shock had not aroused her from her slum- 
bers. He must save her. He sprang up the stairs, 
two at a time, and into the state-room made his 
way. 

There she lay, a smile upon her face, one white 
hand lying upon the coverlid, the other resting over 
her heart. 

He aroused her. 

“ For God’s sake, hasten! ” he cried; “ the steamer 
is sinking, and we will be lost.” 

A look of fear crossed her face. She grew 
white, and the liquid eyes filled with horror. As 
quickly as she could, she threw on a few articles of 
clothing. 

“ Be as quick as you can,” he cried. “ Take the 
money with you. X)on’t stop for anything else.” 
She obeyed him, and in a short time was ready. 
With a wild prayer, he seized her hand, and sped 
along the saloon. Men, women and children were 
flying for their lives. He forced his way through 
them, and reached the head of the stairs. He 
could tell by the movement of the vessel that she 
was sinking rapidly, and knew that there was no 
time to be lost. 

“ Do not allow yourself to be separated from 
me,” he said, harshly, to the trembling, frightened 
woman by his side, and then he plunged into the 
hurrying, fighting crowd of humanity, each as eager 
to save his or her life as himself. The fight for 
liberty was a desperate one. He reached the foot 
of the stairs. The water was even then up to the 
bottom step. The boats had been washed away, 


FAILURE AGAIN 


9; 


and, with a groan of anguish, he realized that his 
chances were but few. Even as he stood undecided 
what to do, the boat lurched sideways, and he was 
thrown violently forward upon his face. 

He was a good swimmer, and struck out vigor- 
ously. In a moment he thought of Mabel. He 
turned to look for her. The boat was nearly sub- 
merged, and, as he looked, he saw the white face 
of the woman he had ruined, the false, weak wife 
of Alvin Davis, sink from sight below the cold, 
muddy waters of the Mississippi. The next mo- 
ment the steamer disappeared from sight. 

He swam wildly about the spot, hoping that she 
would again come to the surface, but the whirlpool 
caused by the sinking steamer would have pre- 
vented such a thing, even if she had not been too 
weak before. She Was gone. There was no pos- 
sible chance of saving her, and with her had van- 
ished the fortune for which he had schemed. It 
was gone from him forever. 

It occurred to |him that he had best be looking 
out for himself, or he might lose his life, which, 
after all, was of the most importance to him. For- 
tune smiled upon him, sending a chicken coop 
floating in his direction. He grasped it eagerly, 
and floated upon it until morning. About 9 o’clock 
a steamer going north came in sight, and he was 
picked up, the only one of all those who had taken 
passage upon the Golden Key,” whose life was 
saved. 

He accepted this as a good omen, and, landing at 

A Private Detective 7 ' 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


9S 

Louisville, Ky. , he set about improving his financial 
condition. Driving the sweet, sad face of Mabel 
Davis from his mind, even as he had dismissed 
Jason Marsden and the blind girl from his thoughts, 
as they could not benefit him in any way, he began 
to scheme again. A shrewd plotter was George 
Roscoe, and his clever brain suggested many ideas 
of future aggrandizement and wealth. On^ out of 
the many plans that came to him he accepted, and 
set about putting it into practical use without fur- 
ther delay. 


CHAPTER XIV. 

THE NEW SCHEME. 

Three months later flaming posters announced 
in Chicago the advent of Professor George Roscoe, 
the eminent biologist, who would give a series of 
entertainments “ illustrating the wonders and amaz- 
ing tendencies of recent discoveries in the realms 
of phrenology and mesmerism.” 

These entertainments soon became the talk of 
the city, and the handsome young professor was a 
welcome guest in the highest circles of society, 
where his transcendental style of mystification found 
many admirers and caused the dollars to roll mer- 
rily into his yawning pockets. 

His experiments differed very little from the 
hypnotic experiments of celebrated Eastern physi- 
cians and psychologists of to-day. He obtained 
precisely the same results, and confessed just as 
much inability to explain the strange influence the 


THE NEW SCHEME 


99 


mesmerist exercises over his subjects as do the pres- 
ent tribe of hypnotists. 

It was no unusual thing for him to transform an 
athletic young man into his tottering, chattering 
grandmother, or to make a society belle imagine a 
walking-stick was a beau uttering vows of desper- 
ate love. 

His phrenological readings of character were 
wonderfully correct. After passing his hands rap- 
idly over the bumps of prominent citizens, he 
would accurately describe their leading traits, tell 
the business in which they were engaged or for 
which they were best adapted, and make admirable 
suggestions for their future guidance. 

He even went beyond Professor Fowler, who 
had previously been acknowledged the chief ex- 
pounder of cranial configurations, and located two 
or three new bumps. 

These discoveries were hailed with marked ex- 
pressions of admiration by Roscoe’s followers. 
One of the new bumps indicated a fund of con- 
cealed humor in melancholy men. It is located in 
the forehead, near where the organ of memory has 
its uncomfortable seat, and swells gently toward 
the arched protuberance of ideality, so prominent 
in the cranial development of spring poets and 
humorists. 

In gauging the mental characteristics of John 
Wentworth one evening, Professor Roscoe pointed 
to an unusual development of this indicator of wit 
and humor, and asserted that its owner could keep 
any table in a roar by dashes of the most delicate 


lOO 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


wit, were it not that the organ of destructiveness was 
uncommonly large and active, and caused him to 
strangle the humorous conceits of his brain at 
birth. 

“ Long John complimented the professor on his 
penetration, and acknowledged that he was often 
tempted to say funny things, but refrained because 

he knew the d d fools wouldn’t understand 

them. 

Professor Roscoe’s success encouraged competi- 
tion, and half a dozen other professors sprang up 
who cleverly counterfeited his experiments and 
bagged many of the dollars which would otherwise 
have been transferred to his coffers. 

Roscoe called these fellows charlatans and cheats, 
but they kept worming themselves into public 
favor, and the whilom social lion felt his popularity 
on the wane. 

In an ill-advised moment he agreed to a public 
test of the genuineness of his experiments. 

The South Side hall in which the exhibition was 
to occur was packed to suffocation. Professor Ros- 
coe delivered an interesting speech before calling 
for subjects. He confessed that he was unable to 
explain the mysterious power he had over persons 
in the mesmeric state. 

“ I believe,” he said, “ it is a subtle mind force 
radiating from a person of strong, determined will, 
finding a responsive nerve in other persons whose 
wills, not being so strong and determined, become 
subject to its influence. You can see the principle 
illustrated in a lesser degree in the ordinary inter- 


THE NEW SCHEME 


lOI 


course of life, where weak persons are under the 
sway of those of more resolute mind. It is a won- 
derful power, and one which might become danger- 
ous in the hands of an unscrupulous person, for the 
subject can be induced to commit crime as easily as 
he can be prevailed upon to say his prayers.” 

“Who would be responsible in that case? ” asked 
a gentleman in one of the front seats. 

“The operator, undoubtedly,” promptly an- 
swered Professor Roscoe, “ as the subject is com- 
pletely under his influence; but the law as yet 
takes no cognizance of the hidden, mysterious 
forces which govern mankind; it does not recog- 
nize mesmeric influence as a factor in crime, and it 
would probably go hard with the man who per- 
petrated an offense against an individual or society 
at large, even though he were under mesmeric in- 
fluence at the time. But, with the rapid strides of 
biological science, witli the discoveries daily being 
made in the phenomena and mysteries of life, will 
come an improvement in this respect, and the 
jurist of the future will not only pass upon the 
overt acts of criminals, but ascertain to what ex- 
tent those unfortunate individuals have been the 
victims of an irresistible influence controlled by the 
will of a mesmerist, who can make them at pleas- 
ure citizens imbued with the highest principles of 
religion and morality, or steeped to the very lips 
in vice, iniquity or crime.” 

“Bosh,” ejaculated a watery-eyed young man in 
the center of the audience. 

“The gentleman cries ' Bosh! continued the 


102 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


professor, in a louder voice, and with a peculiar 
glitter in his eyes. “Does he not know that by 
two or three passes of my hand, and with the con- 
centration of my will, I can compel him to come 
upon this platform, and make him apologize ab- 
jectly for that inconsiderate remark? ” 

The young man’s face blanched, and he squirmed 
uneasily in his seat. Every eye was upon him, 
and several persons whispered loud enough for 
him to hear: 

“ By gosh! he’s under the influence.” 

Professor Roscoe paused after uttering this sig- 
nificant query. His tall form was seen suddenly to 
quiver strangely, his eyes flashed, and his face, 
which had been flushed by the exertion of speak- 
ing, assumed a death-like pallor. 

Strangers to his seances thought he had over- 
taxed his energies. They were soon undeceived; 
the professor was simply in the act of “ concentra- 
tion,” and his victim was the weak-eyed young 
man who made that impertinent interruption, and 
who was now shuffling and twisting on his chair 
like an eel on a gridiron. 

“ Come!” cried the professor, in a tone of com- 
mand, throwing his right hand quickly toward the 
audience, and then drawing back slowly with an 
undulating motion. 

The young man started, and looked around him 
with an expression of fear. 

“Cornel” cried the professor, more authorita- 
tively and louder than before, and making another 
pass with his hand. 


THE NEW SCHEME 


103 


The young man rose from his seat, and, with 
eyes fixed on the professor, who kept repeating 
his passes in the air and crying, “ Come,” walked 
to the platform amid thunders of applause. 

Professor Roscoehad made a brilliant stroke; the 
individual who uttered that contemptuous ejacu- 
lation was under the mesmeric influence in full 
view of the audience — a living, breathing ex- 
ample of the truth of the professor’s claims con- 
cerning the wonderful power of this mysterious 
psychic force. 

“ Stand there! ” commanded the lecturer, point- 
ing to the front of the platform. 

The subject walked to the spot indicated. 

“ Now apologize to this audience for your la- 
mentable ignorance.” 

“ Ladies and gentlemen,” began the young man, 
in humble, contrite tones, “ I am very sorry that 
______ » 

Here the professor made a pass with his right 
hand, which had the effect of stopping the words 
on the young man’s lips. His jaws worked natur- 
ally, but no sound issued from his mouth. 

Another pass, and the mesmerized man resumed: 

“ Very sorry that I interrupted Mr. Roscoe. 
The fact is ” 

Again speech was checked by one of those won- 
derful mesmeric passes. 

“ You observe here a remarkable illustration of 
the wonders of this strange science,” said the pro- 
fessor. “ A simple pass of the hand, and the young 
man is dumb — a reverse motion, and he speaks 


104 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


again, resuming the address at the point he left 
off. Before he completes his apology, however, I 
will exert the influence over a few other persons, 
and let him take part in the manifestations of the 
evening.” 

About a score of young men and women were 
soon under the influence — some becoming en- 
tranced by looking at copper disks with a piece of 
zinc in the center; others yielding readily to the 
influence of the passes, rising from their seats and 
walking recklessly over chair tops to the platform, 
their eyes staring wildly and an expression of 
vacancy on their faces. 


CHAPTER XV. 

EXPOSURE. 

Professor Roscoe was now in his glory. His 
subjects were responsive in the highest degree. 
He made them assume all kinds of characters, and 
perform various antics for the amusement of the 
spectators. 

At one time he told them they were aboard ship, 
and several rolled around in a vain effort to gain 
their sea-legs, and exhibited alarming symptoms of 
sea-sickness. Then a storm came on and a panic 
seized passengers and crew. 

The captain attempted to shoot the mate with 
his pocket handkerchief because that officer, with 
a reckless contempt of duty, rushed to the lifeboat 
(it was a three-legged stool) without trying to save 
the -women. 


EXPOSED 


105 


The women screamed and hugged their children 
(music books handed up from the orchestra) in 
the delirium of despair. Strong men fell upon 
their knees and wept, and the captain, being 
informed there was a Jonah aboard, appeased the 
elements by throwing the watery-eyed young man 
into an imaginary whale’s mouth (the bell-end of 
the trombone). 

After this period of wild excitement the subjects 
were transferred to the interior of a church by a 
simple pass of the professor’s hand. A chubby- 
faced young man, whose appearance suggested 
anything but piety, delivered an eloquent sermon, 
and then threatened to pitch the organist out of the 
organ loft, because he winked at the soprano and 
confused her so that she sang false. 

Then they were transformed into Grecian statu- 
ary assuming different poses, loving, lively or war- 
like, according to the effect the strains of the 
orchestra (now doleful, then jig-like or martial) had 
upon their fancy. 

Again they were in an hotel fire, throwing look- 
ing-glasses out of the windows and rushing down- 
stairs with the bedclothes. Another pass of the 
professor’s hand, and they were fighting Indians on 
the plains, selling wheat or pork on the Board of 
Trade, delivering temperance lectures, or dancing 
like fury at a masked ball. 

It was a wonderful exhibition. The audience 
was delighted, and vowed they had never witnessed 
such excellent fooling in their lives. 

While the frolic was its height, the professor 


I 06 A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 

stamped his feet and waved his hands, stopping the 
subjects in the most ludicrous of attitudes. 

One was nibbling at a chair leg, in the belief that 
it was a Bologna sausage; another was singing a 
doleful ballad to a melancholy maiden represented 
by a slate-pencil; the third was rocking the baby 
to sleep, the baby being a heavy built man of forty, 
who submitted to being fed with a spoon as quietly 
and complacently as a sucking-pig; a fourth was 
washing clothes in an ink-bottle; and, in the 
center of all the mesmerized throng, stood the 
watery-eyed young man who jhad incurred the 
professor’s displeasure. 

“ If the audience is not satisfied,” said Professor 
Roscoe, after the roar of laughter evoked by the 
ludicrous scene on the platform had subsided, “ I 
am ready to submit the subjects to the most rigor- 
ous tests. I claim that every person on the plat- 
form is in a perfect state of mesmeric coma; that 
they are entirely subject to my will; that I can 
make their bodies rigid, and render them insensible 
to pain.” 

The challenge was accepted. Two gentlemen 
mounted the platform, and expressed a desire to 
experiment with the young man who cried “ Bosh ! ” 
and was thrown under the influence for his imperti- 
nence. 

A lighted Cc^ndle was flashed before the young 
man’s eyes. He did not blink, nor could the 
slightest change in the pupils be detected. A 
needle was run suddenly into the fleshy part of his 
thigh ; not a whimper came from his lips, nor could 


EXPOSED 


107 


the examiners detect the faintest start of surprise 
when the sharp instrument was inserted in his leg. 

One of his arms was placed at right angles to his 
body and made rigid by two or three of the pro- 
fessor’s magic passes. It was then belabored with 
a stout walking stick, and did not give under the 
blows. 

Then his head was placed on the back of one 
chair, and his feet on the back of another, and the 
body stiffened by a few passes. A heavy man 
stepped on his chest, the body remained stiff, and 
not the faintest resemblance to a groan came from 
the subject. 

The final test was a severe one. It consisted in 
poking a teaspoonful of Scotch snuff up his nostrils, 
and commanding him not to sneeze. The subject 
passed safely through this ordeal, and the examiners 
and audience loudly proclaimed their satisfaction 
and firm conviction that Roscoe’s mesmerism was 
indeed the strange and wonderful power he pro- 
fessed. 

“Before concluding this seance,” said the pro- 
fessor, after thanking his friends for their expression 
of confidence, “ I will have this young man (point- 
ing to the unfortunate fellow who had been pounded, 
pinched and jumped upon in the cause of mesmeric 
science) complete his apology for interrupting my 
discourse.” 

He made a rapid pass with his hand, and the 
young man recovered the power of speech. 

“ Fact is,” the subject continued at the point 
where he had left off over an hour before, “ fact is, 


io8 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


I knew nothing about the extraordinary power 
possessed by Professor Roscoe. You will pardon 
me, ladies and gentlemen, for the interruption, and 
allow me to express my strong con ” 

Here the professor waved his hand, and checked 
the apology, smiling complacently at the audience 
as he gave this fresh evidence of his power. 
Another pass, and the young man’s utterance re- 
turned. 

“ Strong conviction that the whole thing, from 
beginning to end, is a cheat, a humbug and a 
fraud I ” 


CHAPTER XVI. 

THE TEST. 

For a moment the audience was dumbfounded by 
this declaration. The thought recurred to many 
that it was one of the professor’s wondrous sur- 
prises; but a glance at his face showed that he was 
as much astounded as the rest. 

The weak-eyed young man jumped from the 
platform, and mounted a chair to address the audi- 
ence. Professor Roscoe recovered himself when 
he saw this move, and cried out that he was a vic- 
tim of a vicious conspiracy, and called for a po- 
liceman to eject the impostor. 

“ Which one?” cried a leather-lunged individual 
from the rear, creating a scene of indescribable tu- 
mult, during which the young man who had sprung 
the mine demanded to be heard, and Professor 
Roscoe begged for silence and a posse of police. 


THE TEST 


109 


“ Let us hear what the young chap has to say,” 
yelled a score of voices. 

Roscoe uttered a vigorous protest, but his voice 
was drowned in angry clamor. 

“ Don’t be afraid, professor,” cried a doctor who 
ascended the platform, and stood by Roscoe’s side. 
“ You’ll get fair play, but we’ll hear what your late 
subject has to say for himself.” 

A yell of approval made the rafters ring, and, 
pale and trembling, the professor gazed at the 
watery-eyed young man, who had evidently gained 
the sympathies of the audience, and was primed 
for a speech. 

Meanwhile the subjects on the platform main- 
tained their comical attitudes, and were stolidly in- 
different to the storm raging around them. 

Quietude prevailed as the late subject began his 
speech. 

“ Ladies and gentlemen,” he said, “ for months 
I have made the pretensions of mesmeric pro- 
fessors a profound study. I came to the conclusion 
that this so-called psychic force has no existence 
save in the imagination of weak-minded individuals 
like those you see on the platform.” 

“ Go slow,” shouted an excited middle-aged 
man, who had himself been a subject a few nights 
previously; “ go slow or you may get into trouble.” 

“ Shut up!” cried a portly gambler at his side; 
give the young man a chance.” 

“ Yes, let him go on!” cried others. 

“ I will not detain you long, ladies and gentle- 
men,” continued the young man, coolly; “ and be- 


no 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


fore I finish I hope to convince you of the truth of 
my assertion that the whole thing is a gigantic 
fraud and humbug. You have seen how I went 
through the tests. My flesh was pierced with 
needles, yet I did not flinch; my arm was struck 
with a heavy stick, yet did I not cry out; my 
nostrils were stuffed with strong Scotch snuff, but 
I sneezed not. Still, if you will pardon me, 111 
enjoy that luxury now.’* 

And here the young man paused to sneeze vio- 
lently — an act which convulsed the spectators with 
laughter and deepened the scowl on Professor 
Roscoe’s face. 

I bore all those tests,” resumed the orator, “ by 
a sheer exercise of will. Such tests count for 
nothing in determining the truth or falsity of mes- 
merism. The professor claims that his subjects 
are under the control of his will. If such be the 
fact, there is no necessity for him to tell the sub- 
jects to do certain things. If they are really under 
his control, let him will them to do a prescribed 
thing without proclaiming it orally. If the sub- 
jects respond, I will cheerfully apologize to the 
professor and make every other amend in my 
power.” 

“ That’s reasonable,” cried several skeptics. “Let 
the professor will that pink-eyed little fellow on the 
side to do something.” 

The little fellow alluded to had been arrested in 
the act of making a meal off the chair leg. Close 
observers say he perceptibly winced when this 
suggestion was made. 


THE TEST 


III 


The doctor who stood on the platform whispered 
something to Professor Roscoe, who nodded his 
head in assent. 

“ Professor Roscoe,” said the medical gentleman. 
“ accepts this new test. He is now concentrating 
his mind on something he wishes this subject to do. 
In a few seconds we will witness the effects of the 
concentration. I know what is required, and will 
inform the audience if the test is successful. ” 

Presently the little fellow left off nibbling the 
chair leg, rose to his feet, rubbed his eyes, looked 
inquiringly at the professor, turned a double somer- 
sault, and then struck a heroic posture in front of 
the audience, who yelled with delight, and shouted: 

“ How’s that, doctor?” 

“ I regret to say that the action of the subject,” 
answered the doctor, “ does not accord with what 
he was willed to do. The professor wished him to 
repeat the Lord’s Prayer!” 

A yell of derision followed this statement. The 
real practical test had failed, and the professor, pale 
and quivering with passion, essayed in vain to ad- 
dress the audience. 

The young man, who remained standing on the 
chair during this scene, continued his address with 
a gleam of satisfaction in his liquid orbs. 

“ You see,” he shouted, exultingly, “ that the 
subjects do not respond except when they are told 
what to do. Where is the wonderful mesmeric 
power under such circumstances? I did everything 
I was commanded to do, stood the recognized tests, 
and yet I was no more mesmerized than you are. 


113 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


I repeat that the whole thing is a fraud, partici- 
pated in by the subjects. ” 

Shouts of disapprobation followed this bold asser- 
tion. Many of the subjects were well-known citi- 
zens and had warm friends in the audience, who 
would not. believe they were acting a part for the 
benefit of this cunning professor. 

Pardon me,’' continued the young man, “ I cast 
no aspersions on any one. I do not charge that 
any of the estimable people on the platform are 
deliberate cheats, if I except the professor. What 
I claim is this, and on it rests the whole basis of 
this so-called mesmerism, that there is an imitative 
or sympathetic faculty in man and woman which is 
uncontrollable at times, especially under the influ- 
ence of cunning minds, whether they be designedly 
or naturally cunning. We see the effect of this 
faculty in various emotional ways. If one man 
sneezes or coughs in meeting, scores of others im- 
mediately cough or sneeze; if a lady faints in a pub- 
lic gathering, other ladies follow her example; if 
you start stories about mind-healing or faith cures, 
wonderful cures without medicine spring up and 
multiply on every side. These manifestations arise 
from the sympathetic side of our nature, and, when 
it becomes unduly exercised, epidemic delusions 
are the consequence, and among such epidemic 
delusions mesmerism may be fairly classed, since 
under that or some other name it is continually 
cropping up to puzzle the will of the credulous, and 
swell the coffers of the unscrupulous.” 

While this address was in progress a curious scene 


THE TEST 


II3 

was enacted on the platform. The man who was 
rocking the baby to sleep gave it a vigorous kick 
and jumped to the floor; the love-sick young man 
put the slate pencil in his pocket and looked sheep- 
ish; the stupid washerman who expected to bleach 
a pocket handkerchief with a bottle of ink, suddenly 
regained his senses, and slunk away. 

Indeed, all the subjects sneaked off the platform 
in a shame-faced manner and joined in the clamor 
against Professor Roscoe, whom every one now 
insisted was a cheat and a fraud, and who ran for 
his life just as a shower of eggs was about to impress 
him with the audience’s revised opinion of mesmer- 
ism as practiced and expounded by itinerant pro- 
fessors. 


CHAPTER XVII. 

SEVERAL SCHEMES. 

Now, WHETHER Professor Roscoe was a humbug 
or not, it is nevertheless a fact that the cause of 
mesmerism received a shock in this neighborhood 
from which it did not recover for years. 

As for the professor, he disappeared for a while. 
He was in the South at the outbreak of the war, 
living by his wits, and apparently prospering. In 
1863 he turned up in Chicago again as a member of 
McVicker’s stock company. 

Roscoe was considered a fair actor, and, when he 
was made up as a stage villain, with heavy mus- 
tachios, black, beetling brows, and sinister lines 
under his eyes, no one recognized him as the hand- 
A Private Detective 8 


yi4 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


some professor who reigned supreme in society 
circles a few years ago. 

According to the critics, there was no better vil- 
lain on the stage. “ He throws his whole heart and 
soul into his work,” wrote Major James Chisholm, 
the recognized dramatic authority at that time; “ he 
is equally good as a suave, polished scoundrel of 
fashionable life as the low, brutal burglar who looks 
upon -murder as an incident naturally connected 
with his nefarious craft. Indeed, Mr. Roscoe has a 
genius for stage villainy which must soon place him 
at the head of the profession.” 

But George was not satisfied with the mimic 
triumphs of the stage. True, he liked notoriety, 
but his genius pined for activity in the drama of 
life, and his ingenuity soon devised a scheme to 
gratify the cravings of his erratic nature. 

While at rehearsal one day a detachment of sol- 
diers marched on the stage and arrested Roscoe as 
a Southern spy. His brother actors were indig- 
nant, and rallied for a rescue; but the prods of real 
steel bayonets, at the end of rifles loaded with ball 
cartridges, cooled their ardor, and George was 
dragged off to Camp Douglas, shouting, in his stage 
voice : 

“ All Rome shall howl for this! I swear it, by the 
gods! ” 

At this time Camp Douglas was crowded with 
Confederates and Copperheads, and rumors reached 
General Baker, chief of the Secret Service, of a 
desperate plot to liberate the pritoners and sack the 
city. 


SEVERAL SCHEMES 


II5 

The actor-spy was treated with great seventy. 
His fellow prisoners sympathized with him. Many 
of them knew of his residence in the South, and no 
doubt was entertained of his loyalty to the South- 
ern cause. He became the pet of the camp, and 
was soon one of the boldest and most active mem- 
bers of the Sons of Liberty, an organization pledged 
to carry fire and pillage into the very heart of the 
Northern States, and to strike terror in the ranks of 
the Union army. 

Roscoe was made a leader in this terrible conspir- 
acy. He was trusted with all its details, and was 
appointed commander of a corps of firebrands who 
were to lay Chicago in ruins after “ settling ” the 
guards at the camp, and setting the host of blood- 
thirsty prisoners free. 

No one suspected the handsome actor of dupli- 
city; the utmost confidence was reposed in him by 
the rabid rebels of Camp Douglas, and it was not 
until years afterward, when the rancor and bitter- 
ness of sectionalism had cooled down, they learned 
that their trusted confederate was a spy in the pay 
of General Baker, and furnished the Federal Gov- 
ernment with the information which led to the sup- 
pression of one of the most infamous plots of mod- 
ern times. 

Roscoe was well rewarded for his services, and 
was so proud of this achievement as a spy that he 
determined to devote his life to the detection of 
crime. 

His stage career was a great help to him. It 
enabled him to disguise himself in a more natural 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


1 16 

way than the average detective, and his knowledge 
of the villains of the drama stood him in good stead 
when in pursuit of the criminals and scoundrels of 
real life. 

One of his exploits added greatly to his fame as 
a thief-hunter. The private safe of a banker had 
been robbed of a large sum of money, jewelry and 
railroad bonds. 

The safe was kept in the banker’s bed-room. 
There was no indication that the house had been 
entered. The safe was opened in the ordinary 
way. The combination was known only to the 
banker and his wife, and they could not be sus- 
pected of robbing themselves. 

The city detectives had given up the case in de- 
spair, and Roscoe, who was in the employ of a 
private agency, was intrusted with the unravelment 
of the mystery. 

Neither the banker nor his wife could furnish the 
slightest clue. The night before the robbery, they 
had discussed the dangers of burglary — a daring 
gang being then at work in the city — changed the 
combination, and placed alarms on the door and 
windows of their sleeping apartment. The next 
morning the contents of the safe were missing. 

Roscoe noticed that the lady was of a timid, ex- 
citable, nervous disposition, and he jumped to the 
conclusion that she had opened the safe during a 
fit of somnambulism, induced by the discussion of 
burglars and their methods, the previous night, 
and removed the contents to a place of safety. 

He was confident, that, if he could get her mind 


SEVERAL SCHEMES 


117 


into the same train of thought, and put her to 
sleep in that condition, she would re-enact the 
scene and point out the missing valuables. 

“ This is a case where mesmerism, if it is any 
good at all, should come into play, ” said detect- 
ive Roscoe to himself. “ Hang me if I don’t try 

it. If ever there was a good subject, Mrs, 

is one.” 

He communicated his plan to the banker, who 
consented to the experiment. That evening 
Roscoe, who had been introduced as an eminent 
scientist, turned the conversation to the subject 
of burglary, branching into the motives which 
impelled persons to adopt a career of crime, 
and, after alluding learnedly to the psycholog- 
ical features of the subject, began to talk of 
mesmerism as a valuable adjunct in the detection 
of crime. 

Mrs. listened attentively, and said she had 

often wished to try if there was anything in this 
peculiar science. 

“ I know something of it, madam,” said Roscoe, 
“ and have been very successful in experiments. 
Suppose you allow me to try it now.” 

The lady laughingly consented. In a few mo- 
ments she seemed to fall into a state of semi- 
trance, much to the concern of her husband and 
delight of the detective, who commanded her, in 
his old platform style, to find the missing money 
and valuables. 

Mrs. went up-stairs to the bed-chamber, 

followed by the detective and her husband. She 


ii8 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


opened the safe, made a parcel of the contents, 
and, walking swiftly down-stairs to the kitchen, hid 
the parcel in an old boiler filled with rags. She 
then returned up-stairs and went to bed. 

An inspection of the boiler led to the discovery 
of the missing property, and verified the detective’s 
strange theory of the manner in which the “ crime ” 
was perpetrated. 

Mrs. was astonished to learn, when she was 

awakened from the mesmeric state, that she had 
robbed the safe herself and concealed the contents. 

Roscoe received liberal compensation for his 
services in this case, and was requested to keep 
still about the matter, but the story was too 
valuable in a professional light to remain untold, 
and George was soon known as the mesmeric 
detective. 


CHAPTER XVIIL 

THE MESMERIC DETECTIVE. 

Our adventurer had at last struck upon a line of 
business, in which he could win both fame and 
wealth. His name soon spread far and near. 
The public go wild over anything beyond the 
depth of their understanding, and the remarkable 
exhibition of mesmeric power which he had dis- 
played caught the public mind, and business 
poured in upon him, even more than he could 
attend to. 

His success was something astonishing. During 
the next six months he did not fail in any one 


THE MESMERIC DETECTIVE II9 

particular case; good judgment and common sense 
reasoning, of course, did much for him; but those 
who heard of him, and read of his success, attrib- 
uted it all to the power of occult science, in which 
many firmly believed the mesmeric detective dealt. 

One morning in May, the city was thrown into a 
state of wild excitement over the finding of the 
murdered body of a young girl. She was found 
by a policeman at about 4 a. m., before the house 
of a wealthy [gentleman on Michigan boulevard. 
The throat was cut from ear to ear, and the face 
disfigured terribly, evidently by the heel of a boot 
or shoe literally mashed into a jelly. 

A singular phase of the murder was the fact that 
the officer had passed the spot where the body had 
been found but five minutes before the time of the 
discovery. Then there had been no signs of the 
body. Upon his return, the ghastly corpse was 
there. It must have been carried to the place by 
some one, possibly in a carriage or wagon, but the 
officer could not bring himself to believe this, as 
he positively declared that no vehicle of any de- 
scription had passed the residence or along the 
boulevard at the time. If there had been he would 
have seen it or heard the sound of the wheels. 

The body was removed to the morgue, and the 
papers came out in staring capitals and startling 
headlines, telling the news to the public each in its 
own peculiar way. 

Roscoe heard of the crime upon his arrival at 
the agency. 


120 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


" Here is a chance for you, ” remarked the chief, 
as he threw him a copy of the morning Herald. 

The detective read it over carefully. 

“ Mysterious! ” he replied, handing the paper to 
the chief. 

“ What do you think of it? queried that indi- 
vidual. 

“ If I had charge of the case, I would go to the 
trouble of thinking. As I have not, it is not neces- 
sary,” replied Roscoe, carelessly. 

The chief drew a chair up close to him. 

“ See here, Roscoe,” he said, in an earnest tone, 
“ we want to make all the st.r we can in the world. 
Your exploits and successes of late have brought 
the agency lots of business. If you would take 
hold of the case on the quiet, and unravel the mys- 
tery surrounding it, our fortunes would be made. 
Go in and ferret it out. I believe you can do it, 
and, if you are successful, I will pay you one thou- 
sand dollars, and you can have the reward which 
will be offered; so it won't be a poor-paying experi- 
ment.” 

Roscoe thought the matter over, and, finally, 
agreed to start to work on the case. He left the 
agency, carefully disguised, and made his way, first 
to the morgue, where the body was lying. He saw 
that the murdered girl was probably not over seven- 
teen years of age, and, more, he discovered, by care- 
ful examination, that she would have become a 
mother in a month or so. 

“ I understand the matter,” he muttered, turn- 


THE MESMERIC DETECTIVE 


I2I 


ing away. “ Now to find out with whom she associ- 
ated. 

As he reached the door leading to the street, a 
stout, middle-aged woman brushed past him, enter- 
ing the building. He would have thought nothing 
strange of this had it not been for the fact that, 
in the eyes of the woman, there was a look of 
uneasiness, a look as if she expected something 
and was but half prepared to meet it. He deter- 
mined to watch her, and so followed her into the 
building. The woman approached the marble slab, 
where the body lay covered with a sheet. She 
removed the covering, and, as she did so, a faint 
but significant cry escaped her lips. Roscoe 
understood its meaning. She had found just what 
she expected to. 

He stepped up behind her. 

“ A horrible crime,” he said, in a low voice. 

She turned and faced him, her eyes filled with 
horror, her large mouth twitching. 

“ Yes,” she replied, in an unsteady voice; “ it is 
awful! ” and she shuddered. 

“ So young, too,” continued the detective. 

“ Only seventeen,” replied the woman. 

“ Ah! you knew her?” he inquired. 

The woman reddened; then, recovering herself, 
she said: 

“ Yes, I knew her. This is the body of Kitty 
Nichols. I have known her for years.” 

Quick as a flash, Roscoe drew a note-book from 
his pocket, such as reporters use. 

“ Pardon me, madam, but would you object to 


122 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


telling me what you know about this case, about 
the girl, I mean? I am a reporter for the Herald^ 
and you would render me an invaluable service by 
doing so,” he said quickly. 

At his action, the woman turned away, as if 
confused. 

“ I don’t know anything about her, except that 
she used to live near me, and we were slightly ac- 
quainted,” she replied, in a stammering way. 

Roscoe felt assured that she was lying, but gave 
no evidence of the fact that he had any such sus- 
picion. She had said but a few moments before 
that she had known the girl for years, and now she 
professed to be but slightly acquainted with her. 
Something was wrong somewhere ; he opened his 
note-book. 

“ Let me see,” he muttered, “ you said her name 
was Kitty Nichols? ” 

" Yes, I said so.” 

Was that her name? ** 

“ Yes, I believe so.” 

He wrote it down. 

“ Seventeen years old,” he continued. 

“ Yes; she would have been eighteen on the 4th 
day of next September.” 

A feeling of satisfaction pervaded the detective. 
This woman was well posted; he would get at the 
bottom of her knowledge. 

He wrote that in the book, the age of the girl. 

“ And she lived — ” and he hesitated. 

“ At Archer avenue and Clark street,” put in the 
woman, without thought. 


THE MESMERIC DETECTIVE 


123 


Roscoe wrote the answer down. “ Near to the 
residence of yourself, my dear madam,” he 
thought. “ I’ll find out where you live,” he said to 
himself. 

“ You have no idea how she met her death ? ” 
he asked in a tone which indicated that he expected 
her to say no. Her eyes dilated. 

“ No,” she replied, but her eyes said “ Yes.” 

“ I am sorry you cannot give me further informa- 
tion,” he said, still writing, but watching her 
covertly. “ I am very much obliged to you for 
what you have told me, Mrs. ” and he stopped. 

“ Brownley,” she put in. 

“Mrs. Brownley,” he added, closing the book. 
“ Good morning,” and he left her. 

Outside the building, he slapped his knee en- 
thusiastically. “ I am on the track, ” he muttered. 
“ Now to watch Mrs. Brownley.” 

He stepped across the street, and concealed him- 
self behind a pile of boxes that stood before a 
warehouse. 

He had not long to wait, for in a short time the 
woman emerged from the morgue, and, after look- 
ing anxiously about her, started up the street. He 
followed her, taking every precaution to prevent 
her from seeing him if by chance she should look 
around, but she evidently had no idea that she was 
being followed, and kept right along in the direc- 
tion in which she was going. 

At State street she took a car, and Roscoe, call- 
ing a hack, followed her to the corner of Archer 
avenue and State street, where she left the car ana 


124 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


walked up the avenue. Near the corner of Butter- 
held street she stopped, and entered a frame house. 
A boy of eight or ten years of age was standing on 
the sidewalk. 

“ Who lives in that house, sonny? ” asked Ros- 
coe, putting his head out of the carriage window. 

“ Jim Brownley and his mother,” replied the 
urchin. 

Roscoe threw him a quarter, and commanded 
the driver to convey him to the corner of Clark 
and Adams streets, where he left the hack and 
went to the agency. 

“ Back so soon! ” cried the chief, as he entered. 

“ Yes.” 

“ What luck? ” 

" I am on the track.” 

Are you sure? ” anxiously. 

“ Wait until to-morrow morning, and I can tell 
you better,” replied Roscoe, and then he left the 
agency. He had outlined his plan of action; he 
only waited for night to put it into effect. 

During the afternoon he strolled along Michigan 
avenue past the place where the body had been 
found. The. marks of blood were still upon the 
pavement; they had not been washed away as yet. 
As he stood looking at the spot, the basement door 
of the residence opened, and a woman came out of 
the house carrying a mop and a bucket of water. 

“ She is §oing to clean off the sidewalk,” thought 
Roscoe. The next moment he uttered a cry of 
amazement. 

The woman was Mrs. Brownley! 


A STRANGE REVELATION 


125 


CHAPTER XIX. 

A STRANGE REVELATION, STRANGELY BROUGHT 
ABOUT. 

The sight of this woman coming from the house 
caused a feeling of curiosity to arise in Roscoe’s 
mind. He had seen her enter a house upon 
Archer avenue only a few hours before, and now 
he saw her leave the residence of one of Chicago’s 
wealthy men. 

“Was she a servant in this house?” was the 
thought that came to him. 

He was not disguised now, and so determined 
to ask a few more questions of the woman, altering 
his voice so she would not detect him as the re- 
porter who had interviewed her in the morning. 

The woman was close to him. 

“ Rather a disagreeable task,” he said, pointing 
to the blood stains. 

She looked up in his face. He could see repug- 
nance for the work she had come to do marked 
there. 

“ Yes,” she replied, in a low, angry tone; “ but 
servants must obey their masters, and the sidewalk 
must be cleaned.” 

“ It was here that the murdered girl’s body was 
found, I believe,” he continued. 

“ Yes,” with a shudder. 

“ Mysterious affair ! ” 

“ I don’t know anything about it,” she snapped, 
showing, for the first time, signs of anger. 

“ I didn’t suppose you did,” said Roscoe, sooth- 


126 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


ingly. You are employed in the house yonder? ” 

“ Is that any of your business? ” scrubbing the 
walk. 

“ Not exactly,” he replied, pleasantly. I only 
asked through curiosity.” 

“ Your own common sense might tell you with- 
out asking so many questions,” she growled. 

“ Then you are a servant? ” 

“ Of course I am! Now, go away, and don’t 
bother me, or I’ll throw the bucket of water over 
you.” 

“ Good day,” he said, shortly, and walked away. 

Mrs. Brownley was evidently in a bad humor, 
and the detective did not care about being wet 
through. He walked up to Nineteenth street, and 
then cut through to State street. He saw that it 
was not a difficult matter for Mrs. Brownley to pass 
from her humble home to the residence of her em- 
ployer, as the distance was not over three blocks 
and one-half. 

“ She probably sleeps at home,” he muttered, 
and went home. 

Shortly after eight o’clock that night an old, bent, 
white-haired man might have been seen approach- 
ing the residence of Mrs. Brownley. He had got 
out of a hack at the corner of State and Eighteenth 
streets, and walked the balance of the way. 

Stopping before the dingy, unpainted door, he 
gave a rap that sounded through the house, and 
which brought the woman to the door in a hurry. 

As the door opened, the strange-looking old man 
entered without waiting to be asked. 


A STRANGE REVELATION 


127 


“ I must see you at once, Mrs. Brownley,” he 
said, in a quavering voice. And in private; 
come, before it is too late.” 

With open-eyed astonishment the woman closed 
the door and conducted the mysterious old man 
back into a room used by her as a sitting room. 
“ You know my name? ” she gasped, as she pushed 
him in. 

“ I know much that would be doubted if it 
were told the world!” replied’ the stranger. 

“ I do not know you! ” cried the woman. 

“ But I know you,” replied the strange one, fixing 
his dark, penetrating eyes upon her face. 

She turned pale in spite of herself. Who was 
this mysterious, weird old man who spoke so 
strangely. 

“ Sit down,” he commanded, pointing to a chair. 
She obeyed him. 

“Mrs. Brownley,” he began, in a stern tone, 
“ the world has not been a pleasant place for you 
to live in. Life has had many thorns, but few 
roses for you. Your soul is weighted down by 
sorrow, and your conscience is upbraiding you even 
now for sins committed.” 

His eyes were fixed upon her. She was trem- 
bling. Fear had taken possession of her. 

“ What do you mean? ” she stammered. 

“ Black crime has been committed! The blood 
of the innocent has been shed! You know! you 
know! ” 

His voice had increased in volume. She fell 
from her chair, upon her knees. With the rapidity 


128 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


of thought, he passed his hands before her eyes — 
quick, peculiar passes. 

“ Rise,” he commanded; “ Rise, and obey 
me!” 

Like one in a dream, she slowly arose to her feet. 
Her eyes were set and staring, her movements 
mechanical. She was under the influence of the 
man. 

With delight, Roscoe (for it was he) gazed upon 
her. It had been a bold step, but he had been 
victorious. 

“ You are standing by the dead body of Kitty 
Nichols,” he said, in a solemn tone, to the mesmer- 
ized woman. “ See her white face. Behold the 
blood oozing from the ghastly wound. She has 
been murdered. Come; we must hide her.” 

“ I am the murderer. Look upon me. Do you 
not know me? ” 

With wild eyes she stared at him, then she 
sprang toward him. 

“ Jim,” she gasped, why did you murder her? 
Poor, unfortunate girl, better that shame had come 
to her than that crime had come to you. Jim, my 
son, your mother will protect you. But why did 
you murder her? ” 

Roscoe saw that he had struck upon the right 
tack, so he carried out the current of thought. 

“ She would have been a mother soon,” he 
said. “ I was enraged; I killed her. But we must 
hide her. You know what is best to do. Assist 
me.” 

The woman looked about her in an uncertain 


A STRANGE REVELATION 


129 


manner. She made no effort to conceal the imag- 
inary body of-the murdered girl. Roscoe came to 
the conclusion that she had not been connected 
with the murder in any way, but had her suspicion 
as to who had committed the deed. 

She thought her son guilty! 

He resolved to bring her out of her hypnotic 
state, and, with a sudden clapping of the hands, 
brought her to herself. She looked at him with 
the light of reason in her eyes, but in a dazed, be- 
wildered manner. 

“You have had a fainting spell,” muttered the 
detective, slowly. “ Your guilty conscience over- 
came you, and you swooned. Now sit down and 
hear what I have to say.” 

Mechanically she obeyed him. Leaning upon 
the small table that stood between them, Roscoe 
said: 

“ Last night Kitty Nichols was foully murdered.” 

The woman arose to her feet. 

“ Sit down,” he commanded. 

She obeyed him, seeming to have no will of her 
own. 

“ Foully murdered,” he repeated. “That mur- 
der was committed by one who is near and dear to 
you, one that you would sacrifice everything for, 
in order to protect him — your son.” 

“ No, no I ” she moaned, dropping her head upon 
the table. 

“ Yes,” he said, sternly, “ your son, Jim Brown- 
ley, murdered Kitty Nichols, and you know it.” 

A Private Detective g 


130 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


“ Mercy, mercy ! ” she wailed, “ he could not 
have been himself. He must have been crazy from 
drink. He would not have done it if he had 
thought of all that would follow.” 

“ He did it just the same,” replied the detective, 
“ and you cannot shield him. “ Madam, where is 
your son ? ” 

The words came harshly, sternly. The woman 
redoubled her cries and lamentations. 

“ I know not,” she wailed. “I have not seen 
him to-day.” 

“ Is this the truth? ” 

“ As God sees me. ” 

** Then, I must find him. He cannot escape me. 
I have the power to ferret out the most cunningly 
concealed criminals. I can read the innermost 
thoughts of any one. I will seek your guilty son, 
and deliver him up to justice.” 

He made a motion as if to leave the room. The 
woman sprang to her feet; all her mother’s love 
aroused; she threw herself upon him, and tried by 
main strength to detain him. 

“You shall not go,” she shouted; “you shall 
not drag him to prison.” 

She was nearly frantic. Exercising a mighty 
effort, the mesmeric detective threw her from him. 
A few passes and she was as quiet as a new-born 
babe. He forced her to sit down in her chair, and 
then turned to leave the room again. It was his 
intention to search the house. As he stepped 
toward the door, it opened, and a young man of 
about five and twenty rushed in. His face was 


A STRANGE REVELATION 


131 

inflamed and red from drink, his hair was uncombed 
and matted, while his eyes resembled those of a 
tiger — wild, glaring, restless. 

Who in h — 1 are you? ” he growled, staring at 
the detective. 

“ No matter who I am,” replied that gentleman, 
his hand upon the handle of a revolver; “ you are 
Jim Brownley, and I have called to see you. You 
were not at home when I arrived, so I have been 
passing away the time, while waiting, with your 
mother.” 

“ Well, then, — — you! I am home; what 

do you want of me?” hissed the young scoun* 
drel. 

“ I want you,” cried Roscoe, and as quick as 
thought he sprang upon him. 

The struggle was a desperate one while it lasted, 
but Roscoe was a powerful man, and soon overcame 
the desperado. 

The mother sat looking on, without seeming to 
notice what was going on. She was completely 
under the influence of Roscoe’s remarkable power. 

In a short time Brownley was hand-cuffed and 
powerless. 

“ What is this for? ” he growled, as he stood help- 
less before the detective. 

“ For the murder of Kittie Nichols,” he cried; 
you are away off this trip. I did not kill Kitty 
Nichols, and can prove it.” 

Roscoe shot a keen glance at his brutal face; was 
the man lying? Criminals often deny their crime. 
No; he felt assured that he was right. 


132 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


“ You’ll have a chance to prove it,” he said, sig- 
nificantly. 

“ I wouldn’t be afraid to wager that you’ll swing, 
just the same. ” 

The young fellow grew sober and grave at once. 

“ Do you really believe me the murderer? ” he 
asked. 

“ I do.” 

“ Who are you? ” he asked, suddenly. 

With a sudden movement, Roscoe removed his 
disguise. 

“ George Roscoe, the mesmeric detective,” he 
replied. “ I have your mother mesmerized even 
now, and from her I got my knowledge as to your 
guilt.” 

Hardened as he was, the young villain turned 
pale when he heard the name of the famous detect- 
ive. He glanced nervously around him, first at 
his mother, and then at the man who stood before 
him. Then a look of utter hopelessness came to 
his face, and he said: 

“ I suppose it is all up. Take me away.” 

“ Then, you confess,” cried Roscoe, jubilantly. 

A smile of contempt came to the lips of the 
other. 

Confess ! ” he cried. “ No. You have arrested 
me for the murder of Kitty Nichols. You have 
a hold on me; but you cannot hang me until you 
prove me guilty. Take me away. You’ll find 
you’ll have a hard time to make me swing. ” 

The words of the young fellow caused some sur- 
prise to the mind of the detective, but he said 


JIM BROWNLEY CONFESSES 


133 


nothing, and led his prisoner out to the street. 
Then he returned and brought the mother out of 
the spell of his influence, and, before she had fully 
recovered, left the house without saying one word 
to her relative to his capture. 

In an hour Jim Brownley was behind the bars at 
the Central Station, and the news of the expedi- 
tious work and important capture spread over the 
city. 


CHAPTER XX. 

JIM BROWNLEY CONFESSES! 

Great was the excitement in the city when the 
news had spread around. Never in the annals of 
Chicago crime had a case been worked up quicker 
or more successfully than this one. In less than 
twenty-four hours after the body had been discov- 
ered the murderer was captured, and the papers 
lavished praise upon the shrewd detective who had 
been the means of bringing it about. Reporters 
flocked to the station to gaze upon the coarse 
features of the murderer. Artists employed upon 
the staffs of the many newspapers went, and, with 
lightning rapidity, transferred a semblance of the 
whisky-sodden face to the clean white paper upon 
which they worked, to be roughly cut out of wood 
and printed in the next edition of their particular 
paper. 

After seeing Jim Brownley locked up, George 
Roscoe went to his lodgings at once. It was past 
midnight when he climbed the stairs leading to his 


134 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


room. Being an inveterate smoker, he filled a pipe 
with fragrant tobacco, and sat back in his chair to 
enjoy himself and think. 

He went back over the events of the day. They 
had been of a decidedly startling character, and, as 
they passed in review before his mind’s eye, they 
seemed more like a dream than reality. Clearly 
before him came the face of the man he had arrested. 
He could see him as plainly as though he stood be- 
fore him, and strange his words came to the mind 
of the thinking detective. 

“ I did not kill Kitty Nichols, and can prove it.” 

He had said the words positively. Was he 
guilty? 

The detective pondered deeply on the case. He 
had arrested this man on what? Simply nothing 
but suspicion aroused by the action of the mother. 
Might not she, knowing the disposition of her way- 
ward son, knowing, perhaps, that there had been 
an intimacy between him and the murdered girl, 
have thought him guilty, and so expressed herself in 
the manner in which she did? He had no positive 
proof. One thing looked suspicious, and that was 
his words when Roscoe had revealed his identity. 
He had said, in a tone of hopelessness: 

“ I suppose it’s all up. Take me away. ” 

What could he have meant by those words? He 
had said, almost immediately after, however, that it 
would be a difficult matter to prove him guilty. 
What could it mean? The more Roscoe thought 
of the matter the more puzzled he became. At last 
he came to this conclusion: 


JIM BROWNLEY CONFESSES 1 35 

First. That the man Brownley knew something 
about the murder, even if he had not committed it. 

Second. That he had been justified in making 
the arrest upon the strength of what he had as- 
certained. 

Third. That he would investigate the matter 
still further; there was still much to be ascertained 
and explained; how the murder was committed; 
why the deed had been done ; how the body 
came to be found in the place where the officer 
had discovered it. 

He slowly disrobed, and crept into bed. All 
night, in his dreams, came the face of Jim Brown- 
ley. It haunted him continually. Early the next 
morning he was up, and down to the agency. The 
chief welcomed him effusively. 

“You’re a good one!” he exclaimed. “ ThaFs 
the quickest job I’ve seen in a long time.” 

Roscoe made no answer, but transacted some 
minor business matters, and then made his way to 
the jail, where he knew that the young fellow had> 
by this time, been transferred. 

He had no difficulty in gaining admittance. He 
merely mentioned his name, and the doors flew 
open. He made some inquiries, regarding the 
prisoner, of the turnkey 

“ He don’t say much,” replied that worthy. “ He 
won’t eat, and keeps his mouth shut. He sent a 
note to a man living on Michigan avenue, about 
an hour ago.” 

“ A note,” cried Roscoe, sharply. “ Did you 
read it? ” 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


136 

“ Certainly. I have to read everything that goes 
out of jail. I copied it.” 

“ Let me see the copy ? ” 

The turnkey led the way to his private office. 
The copy was carefully put away among some 
papers. He found it and handed it to the detective. 

This is what Roscoe read: 

“Mr. Barton — I am in jail. Arrested last 
night for murder. Don’t you think you can come 
and see me. 

“ Jim.” 

Nothing suspicious about the note, merely a 
request from one man in confinement to another to 
come and visit him. Only natural. 

“ What was the address to which this note was 
sent ? ” asked Roscoe. 

The turnkey told him. With difficulty the de- 
tective repressed a cry of astonishment. The 
address was the same as the house where the 
mother of the prisoner was employed. 

“ I would give much to be present at the inter- 
view,” flashed through the detective’s mind. Could 
he not arrange it in some way. He spoke to the 
turnkey concerning his desire. 

“ I would like to overhear the interview between 
the prisoner and the man to whom this note was 
sent,” he said. 

“ That won’t be a very difficult matter,” replied 
the official. 

It was arranged that Roscoe should be disguised 
as one of the runners of the jail, and be near the 
cell when Mr. Barton arrived, providing he came 


JIM BROWNLEY CONFESSES 


137 


at all. This scheme was carried out as far as the 
disguise was concerned, the balance of it never 
came to a fulfillment, for Mr. Barton did not come. 
About an hour after Roscoe had arrived, the mes- 
senger who had carried the note to the man on 
Michigan avenue returned, bringing with him a 
note. 

The turnkey took it, and, after reading it, turned 
it over to Roscoe, who also read it. 

“ Jim — I cannot come to see you to-day. Busi- 
ness of the utmost importance calls me away from 
the city for a few days. When I return I will call 
upon you. I am sorry that you have been so 
unfortunate. You can depend on me. 

“ Malcolm Barton. ” 

An ordinary friendly note, and yet George Ros- 
coe turned it over and over in his hands. It seemed 
singular to him that a man of wealth like Malcolm 
Barton should be on terms of intimacy with a 
drunken scoundrel like Jim Brownley. Could there 
be anything between them? 

“ Nothing in that note? ” remarked the turnkey. 

“ No,” replied Roscoe, slowly. Suddenly an 
idea came to him. “ I think I can make something 
come from it, though,” he cried. 

“ What do you mean? ” 

“ Have you a sheet of plain note-paper handy? ” 

“ Lots of it; you’ll find a quire of it right in the 
drawer there.” 

“ All right; just leave me this note, and allow me 
to deliver it to the prisoner. I have an idea that 


138 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


much can be made out of it. I want to alter it a 
little. ” 

“ Alter it? ” muttered the turnkey, doubtfully. 

“ Yes; make it read much the same, only convey 
much more. It is for the benefit of justice.” 

“ All right, go ahead; I’ll leave you. When you 
get ready I’ll show you the way to the cell,” and he 
left the office. 

Among his other accomplishments, Roscoe was a 
skillful penman. Often while at college he had 
imitated the handwriting of others, and much sport 
had come from it. Now he saw a way by which he 
could make this accomplishment useful to him. 

He sat down before the desk, and spread Bar- 
ton’s note before him. The writing was of an open 
character, the letters being made full and round, 
not a difficult hand to imitate. After several trials, 
he found he had it perfect. The note was written 
upon a sheet of ordinary note-paper, much the 
same as that which the turnkey had placed at his 
disposal. He took up a sheet and wrote the fol- 
lowing note : 

“Jim — I read of your arrest in the Herald. 
You must have been drinking. Why don’t you 
let whisky alone ? I cannot come to see you to- 
day. I am going out of the city, and do not know 
when I will return. When I get back I will come 
and see you. 

“ You know I will not desert you, so act accord- 
ingly. 

“ Malcolm Barton. ” 

“ There,” muttered Roscoe, throwing down his 


JIM BROWNLEY CONFESSES 


139 


pen, “ I think that will produce favorable results. 
A man who drinks don’t like to be told of it, and 
so Brownley will feel incensed at the allusion to it: 
and, if Barton is going out of the city for any 
especial reason, I think Brownley, with a little per- 
suasion, will let me know what that reason is.” 
He put the note in the envelope, destroyed the 
other one, and went out of the office. 

“ Show me the way to the prisoner,” he said to 
the turnkey. 

Along the corridor of the jail, the official led the 
way. Midway in the tier he stopped, and quietly 
unlocked the wicket in the door of one of the cells. 

“There you are,” he whispered; “work your 
scheme as you see fit,” and walked away. 

Roscoe threw open the wicket. “Brownley!” 
he cried, in a harsh voice. 

The prisoner was sitting on the edge of his cot, 
his head in his hands, possibly suffering from the 
effects of the previous night’s indulgence. 

He looked up eagerly as he heard his name 
called. 

“ What is it 1” he cried. 

Roscoe handed him the note through the wicket, 
but he did not leave it. There was a small hole 
bored in the door for the purpose of observation. 
To this hole he applied his eyes, and watched the 
action of the man. 

Brownley took the note out of the envelope, and 
read it eagerly. Then his face fell; the hope which 
had appeared in his eyes upon hearing the cell 
wicket open died away, and a look of sullen rage 


140 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


took its place. He arose and paced the cell, his 
hands clinched, his eyes emitting glints and sparks 
of rage. Finally he tore the note in fragments, 
and stamped upon the pieces. 

“ G — d his soul,” Roscoe heard him mutter. 

He is going to leave me to suffer. I’ll fix him,” 
and he approached the door of the cell. 

Quietly the detective stepped aside. The next 
moment he heard the man beating upon the door. 

Waiting for a moment, he stepped up to the door 
and threw open the wicket. 

“ What’s the niatter ?” he demanded. 

“ Do you know where to find the man who 
arrested me? ” asked the prisoner, sullenly. 

“ What’s his name? ” 

“ Roscoe.” 

"Yes; I kin find him.” 

" I want to see him.” 

" What for? ” 

" None of |your business. Send for him, and 
have him here just as quick as you can. It’s mighty 
important. ” 

" All right; I’ll send for him, ” and he closed the 
wicket. 

An expression of satisfaction crossed his features 
as he walked quickly toward the office. 

The turnkey met him. 

" Well, what luck? ” he asked. 

" The best in the world,” replied Roscoe; “ the 
man wants to see me, and I think will make a con- 
fession of all.” 

" You don’tmean it? ” 


JIM BROWNLEY CONFESSES 141 

“ Yes I do. I suppose you have no objections to 
leaving me alone with him. in his cell? ” 

“ No; of course not. You’re sure he don’t want 
to do you? ” 

“ I’ll take the chances; he wants to save his neck; 
that’s what he wants to see me for.” 

In a few moments he had divested himself of the 
livery worn during his previous occupation, and, al- 
lowing a reasonable time to elapse, returned to the 
cell, accompanied by the turnkey. 

The door was thrown open, and Roscoe stepped 
into the cell. 

Brownley was to his feet, and came forward to 
meet him. 

“ You wanted to see me? ” began the detective, 

" Yes, alone.” 

The turnkey left them alone. 

“Well, what is it?” inquired Roscoe, sitting 
upon the bed. 

“ You asked me last night if I would confess? ” 
began the prisoner. 

“ Yes, and you refused.” 

“ I know I did then, because I wanted to save 
another man. I was willing to be locked up awhile 
because I thought I would be well paid for it, but 
I’ve changed my mind since. The man I thought 
I could depend on has turned against me, and there 
ain’t no reason why I should suffer for him.” 

“ Then, you want to tell all you know? ” 

“ Yes.” 

“ Go ahead.” 


142 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


“ Before I begin — when I tell you, will you see 
that the full punishment of the law is put to him? ” 

“ Why, of course I will if he deserves it.” 

“ All right. I told you last night that I did not 
kill Kitty Nichols. ” 

" You did.” 

“ I didn’t, either.” 

“ Well, come to the point.” 

“ But I know who did kill her.” 

“ Ah,” and the detective spoke sharply. 

Who was the murderer?” 

“ Malcolm Barton.” 

“ Can you prove this,” sternly. 

“ I saw him do it.” 

“You did?” 

“ Yes. Listen; I’ll tell you all. I’ve known 
Kiity Nichols for twelve years; we used to go to 
school together. Well, Kitty was like a good many 
young girls; she liked to run around a good deal, 
and wasn’t careful of herself. I became intimately 
acquainted with her when she was about fourteen 
years old; you know what I mean.” 

“ Yes; I understand you.” 

“ When she was about fifteen years old mother 
went to work for Barton. Of course I went to the 
house often, and after a while he hired me too. 
He is a licentious old wretch; don’t think no more 
of ruining a young girl than he does of eating his 
supper. I knew lots of girls, and he got me to 
bring ’em to his house at night, when he would fill 
’em up with wine, and then ruin ’em; Kitty was 
among the rest. He seemed to be dead stuck on 


JIM BROWNLEY CONFESSES 


143 


her; she was a mighty pretty little thing, and almost 
any one would get ‘gone’ on her. By and by 
Kitty told me that she was going to be a mother. 
I knew who was to blame. Old Barton. I told 
him about it. He got terribly scared over it. 
‘ Can’t you fix it some way to get rid of it ? ’ he asked 
me. I told him I’d try, and I did; but it wasn’t no 
use; nothing did any good. About a month ago 
Kitty went to him and told him that he must give 
her ten thousand dollars, or she’d squeal on him. 
Either the money or marriage. She would rather 
have the money, she said. I might as well tell you 
that I put her up to this. The old skinflint posi- 
tively refused to do either one or the other, and 
abused her shamefully. The night she met her 
death, she went to see him again. In another month 
she expected the event to transpire. I was hiding 
behind the curtains in another room, right next to 
where Barton was in conversation with her. I 
guess he had been drinking, for he was awful sav- 
age. She told him that he must do something for 
her. He refused. They had some mighty hard 
words, and, suddenly, the man turned to his dress- 
ing-table and picked up a razor. 

“ ‘ I’ll fix you! ’ he yelled; and, before I could 
do a thing, he sprang on her and cut her throat. 
Then he seemed to be carried away by passion. 
He stamped on her and mashed her face. I ran 
into the room. He turned and saw me. He 
dropped the razor, and got as white as a sheet. 

“ ‘You have murdered her! ^ I said. 


144 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


“ * I was carried away by the force of my passion/' 
he replied. 

** ‘ What are you going to do about it? ' I said 
next. 

“ ‘ God knows, Jim. What can I do? * he cried. 

“ 'You’ll hang/ I said. 

“ He fell on his knees before me. 

“ ' Help me out of this trouble, and I’ll make you 
a rich man,’ he cried. 

“ ' All right. Write me a check for ten thousand 
dollars now, and I’ll help you,’ I replied. 

“ First, I locked the doors of both rooms, the 
doors leading to the hall. I did this so nobody 
would come in. He wrote me the check. I have 
it in my pocket now. Then we built a fire in the 
grate. The girl had fallen on a big Turkish rug, 
and that was the only thing in the room that had 
blood on it. We burnt the rug. Then I took the 
razor and threw it in the closet, hiding it under 
some old clothes. I intended to dispose of it in 
some more effectual way when I had time. The 
body was the next thing to attend to. We wrapped 
it in a sheet, and carried it down into the basement. 
No one was up. The servants had all gone to bed. 
We heard the policeman pass by on his beat, and 
then threw the door open and carried the body to 
the place where it was found.” 

“ Why did you leave it there? ” interrupted 
Roscoe. 

“ I thought it would be safer there than any- 
where else. Nobody would think that a man like 
Barton would do a thing like that. ” 


JIM BROWNLEY CONFESSES 


145 


“ Very well; go on/’ 

Then we returned to the house, burned the 
sheet, and I left by the back gate. Now you know 
all, and can go ahead and arrest the right man.” 
“ By heaven, I will,” cried Roscoe, rising to his 
feet. ' Before night you shall be free, and Malcolm 
Barton shall sleep in this cell.” 

“ They may not let me go free,” said the fellow. 

" Well, they may keep you here for a few days; 
but, if I find you have told me the truth about the 
razor and check. I’ll see that you are not kept here 
any longer than I can help. Before I go, let me 
see the check.” 

Brownley drew a well-worn wallet from his 
pocket and produced the check, 

“ Will you allow me to keep this for a short 
time? ” he asked. 

“ I don’t know as I can help myself, if you 
demand it,” replied Brownley. “ You’ll give it 
back to me? ” 

“ Yes, but I doubt very much if it will be of 
any value to you. Justice would not permit you 
to be rewarded for assisting in a crime.” 

Brownley’s jaw dropped. 

I never thought of that, ” he muttered. “ Never 
mind; all I want is to get free, and see that old 
wretch in here. You’d better hurry, because he is 
going to leave town, and you may miss him.” 

Roscoe smiled. 

“ I would find him if he was hiding in hell,” he 
replied, and left the cell. 

A Private Detective jo 


146 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


CHAPTER XXL 

A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE ! 

The detective lost no time in going to the house 
of Malcolm Barton. He firmly believed that the 
man intended leaving the city, perhaps the coun- 
try, never to return, and so he felt that, in order to 
take him prisoner, he must lose no time, but 
attend to the matter at once. 

He took a hack at the corner of Clark street and 
Indiana, and was driven as fast as the horse could 
travel in the direction of Barton’s residence. The 
drive occupied nearly thirty minutes. The house 
looked deserted as he stopped before it, there 
being no sign of life visible, the blinds drawn 
closely to, and the curtains pulled down to the 
bottom of the windows, conveying the idea of 
desertion. 

The detective rang the basement bell. Five 
minutes passed and it was not answered. Then he 
tried it again; this time he was more successful. 
A shuffling footstep was heard inside, and in a 
moment the door was opened. Mrs. Brownley 
stood before him. As soon as she saw him she 
tried to close the door, but Roscoe was too quick 
for her, interposing his foot in such a manner that 
she could not do so. 

You here! ” she mumbled. 

“ Yes, and for your good this time,” he answered 
quietly. “ I have not much time. Where is Mr. 
Barton? ” 


A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE 


147 


“ I don’t know,” she answered, sullenly. 

“ See here, Mrs. Brownley. You are doing your 
son untold injury by acting in this manner. You 
love your boy, don’t you? ” said Roscoe. 

“ Yes, yes; but you have taken him from me,” 
she answered, excitedly. 

“ But I will restore him to you again,” he as- 
sured her. “ A great deal depends upon yourself. 
I have come here to try and save your son. You 
must not pull against me.” 

She scanned his face eagerly. Evidently the 
look satisfied her, for she opened the door. 

“ I don’t want to pull against you,” she said. “ I 
did not know but what you had come to do me 
further injury.” 

He stepped inside. 

“ No, Mrs. Brownley, I came to doyou[a service. 
Now, answer my questions. Where is Mr. 
Barton? ” 

" I don’t know, sir.” 

” Is he in the house? ” 

“ No, sir. He left the house an hour ago.” 

“ Then, he has got the start of me,” muttered 
Roscoe. “ But I’ll cut off his escape from the 
city.” And, taking out his note-book, he hastily 
scribbled a few lines, which he sent by the hack 
down to Chief of Police Seavey. He also sent a 
message to his own chief. The depots and steam- 
boat wharves were under close surveillance in an 
hour’s time. 

Malcolm Barton was well known in Chicago. 
Many of the officers, as well as the private detect- 


143 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


ives, knew him well, and those men were appointed 
to watch the depots and landings. The messages 
Roscoe sent were as follows: 

“ Chief of Police Seavey — Have the depots 
watched to prevent Malcolm Barton from leaving 
the city; on account of Kitty Nichols case. 

“ Roscoe, 

''Mesmeric Detective. ” 

The other was not addressed at all, and simply 
read: 

“ Watch Seavey’s men. Don’t let Malcolm Bar- 
ton get out of town. 

" Roscoe.” 

The messages dispatched, the detective turned 
his attention to the old woman again. She had 
been watching him closely, hardly understanding 
what he was doing. He closed the basement door, 
and said to her, in a matter-of-fact tone: 

“ Now, Mrs. Brownley, I want you to show me 
to Mr. Barton’s private rooms. There are certain 
matters which I must investigate, and as soon as 
possible. So, come,” and he started for the stairs 
which led to the floor above. 

She stopped him. 

“ What has Mr. Barton to do with this case? ” 
she inquired. 

Roscoe looked at her keenly. He felt that he 
could trust her. 

“ Malcolm Barton killed Kitty Nichols,” he said, 
deliberately. 

The woman fell back in amazement. 

** Mr. Barton! ” she gasped. 


A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE 


149 


“ Yes. At least, so your son says. If he did 
not commit the deed, your boy did. There are 
certain things which will prove the innocence of 
your son, and the guilt of the other. So, show 
me to the rooms where I will find these proofs, and 
be quick about it.” 

Without another word, but with an expression 
of joy upon her homely countenance, the woman 
led the way up-stairs. Before a door upon the 
second floor she stopped. 

“These are the rooms,” she said, simply, and, 
taking a bunch of keys from her pocket, she in- 
serted one of them into the lock and opened the 
door. 

Roscoe brushed past her. 

The first room he entered was fitted up partly as 
a study or reading-room, partly as a reception- 
room. 

“ This must have been the room where the crime 
was committed,” he muttered, and walked over to 
the grate. It was half filled with ashes. 

“ What do you usually burn in this grate ? ” he 
asked, turning quickly to the woman. 

“ Soft coal, sir,” she replied. 

He took a handful of the ashes out of the grate, 
and examined them carefully. 

“ No soft coal about that,” he muttered. They 
were crisp and brittle, and left a greasy dirt upon 
his hands. “ Woolen material,” he added to him- 
self, as he examined the contents of the fireplace 
more minutely. Suddenly his eye caught a glimpse 
of some dirty white object in one corner of the 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


150 

grate. He picked it up. It was a portion of white 
cloth about six inches wide and eight in length. 

“ A piece of the sheet,” he muttered. 

He placed the fragment carefully away in his 
pocket, first wrapping it up in a newspaper. He 
also made a small package of some of the ashes, 
and put them in his pocket. 

“ Now for the razor,” he murmured. He found^ 
the closet without difficulty. It was quite a large 
one, and was nearly full of old clothing, newspa- 
pers, trunks and rubbish. Among the pile of rub- 
bish he began his search. In two minutes the 
blood-stained razor was in his hands. He showed 
it to Mrs. Brownley. 

“ With this razor Malcolm Barton killed Kitty 
Nichols,” he remarked. 

The woman shuddered. The razor was also care- 
fully wrapped up and put away. But one thing 
more remained to be done, to find the check-book 
from which the check given to Jim Brownley had 
been torn, and see if the check corresponded with 
the stub left in the book. He found this the most 
difficult part of his work. The check-book was 
either in Barton’s pocket, or very securely hidden. 
Hurriedly the detective ransacked drawers, desks, 
and every conceivable place where there was the 
slightest chance of the book being secreted. All 
to no purpose. He was about to give it up in dis- 
gust, when his eye spied a small drawer in a fancy 
stand near the window. He had not noticed this 
article of furniture before. Cabinetmakers seldom 
put drawers in those little stands. But this one 


A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE 151 

was furnished with one, and to that Roscoe now 
turned his attention. 

It was locked, but the fastening did not prevent 
the man from getting at the interior. With scarcely 
any effort he broke the lock, and the next moment 
uttered a cry of satisfaction. The check-book lay 
before him. It was but the work of a moment to 
complete his investigations. The check corre- 
sponded with the stub. He was about to turn 
away from the stand, first taking possession of the 
book, when a package of letters met his gaze. He 
picked them up, and, opening the first, read a few 
lines. 

“ The best proof of all,” he cried. The letters 
were from Kitty Nichols to Malcolm Barton, and 
proved beyond doubt the intimacy that. had existed 
between them. He put them in his pocket, and 
turned to Mrs. Brownley. 

“ Your son is innocent, ” he cried, “ and in a short 
time will be a free man.” 

“ Thank God,” fervently uttered the mother. ** I 
knew my boy was wild, reckless and dissipated, but 
I did not think him capable of committing crime.” 

Roscoe did not linger any longer in the room; he 
had accomplished what he had come to do, and so 
he hurried down the stairs. As he left the house 
by the basement door, he turned to Mrs. Brownley. 

“ Do not mention what I have discovered, nor 
what I have told you,” he said. I do not want it 
known yet.” 

Without waiting for her to reply, he hurried 


152 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


down the street. The hackman had not returned, 
and he determined not to wait for him. 

He caught a car, and hastened to the agency. 

The chief was alone. 

“ Did you send out the men? ” asked Roscoe, as 
he entered. 

“ Yes, they are all out; I have not heard from any 
of them yet. ” 

“ All right! ” and he left the agency. 

He next visited the police headquarters. Chief 
Seavey was present. 

“ You received a message from me?” asked the 
detective, without prelude or preamble. 

“ Message! ” inquired Seavey. 

“ Yes; Roscoe is my name.” 

“ Oh, yes; I received your message, and the de- 
pots are under surveillance.” 

“ Good! ” and the detective left the station, with- 
out waiting to be questioned. 

He next visited each depot and steamboat land- 
ing in succession. He found the officers all on 
duty. None of them had seen the man they had 
been sent to watch. He must still be in the city. 

Feeling secure of his man, Roscoe went to his 
lodgings, had his supper (for the hour was near 6 
p. m.), and then made an entire change of costume 
and went out upon the street. 

The sky was dark as he left the house. 

“ Going to storm,” he muttered, and then walked 
down toward the river. As he drew near Madison 
street bridge, one of his comrades, a detective by 


A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE 1 53 

the name of George May, met him^ The man was 
excited, his face betokened it. 

“ I was just going after you, he cried.” 

“ What for? ” 

“ I think I have spotted the man.” 

“Where?” 

“ Near Dearborn street. I was returning to the 
agency, going home from duty, when I saw the man 
hurrying toward the river. I have often seen Bar- 
ton on the floor at the Board of Trade, and I don’t 
think I am mistaken.” 

“ Why didn’t you arrest him? ” 

“ I was going to, but he disappeared suddenly 
around the corner, and I could not locate him 
again. I left an officer to watch the place, and 
started to find you.” 

“ Come quickly, and show me the place,” cried 
Roscoe, and the two men started on a brisk walk, 
along the street. 

A walk of fifteen minutes brought them to the 
spot. The policeman was where May had stationed 
him. He reported that he had seen no one. 

Roscoe relieved him from duty, and stood for a 
moment undecided as to the best course to pursue. 
Along the street on both sides, down to the river, 
were a number of lodging houses and groggeries. 
(They do not exist at the present time.) It was 
possible that the hunted man had taken refuge in 
one of them. But which one! That was more 
than Roscoe could imagine. It would be an im- 
possibility to go through each one of them sepa- 
rately, as, while he was searching one, the man 


154 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


might escape from another, if he did not happen to 
be in the one s^ijcted. True, he might leave May- 
outside, to watch, but he could not watch the front 
and back of the houses at the same time, so the 
man might escape by one way while he was watch- 
ing the other. Finally, an idea occurred to him. 
Turning to May, he said: 

“ You go to the agency and bring back four or 
five men. We will corner the man if he is hidden 
away in one of these ‘joints,' and surround him. 
Be quick. ” 

The detective started on a dog trot up the street, 
and Roscoe, concealing himself behind an ash-box, 
waited. May had not been gone five minutes be- 
fore the figure of a man, clad in dark clothing and 
carrying a small valise, emerged from one of the 
lodging houses and headed for the river. At the 
same moment it began to rain. In perfect torrents 
the rain descended, wetting the detective to the 
skin in a few moments. 

He muttered an anathema, and buttoned his coat 
up around his throat, also pulling his slouch hat 
down over his eyes. 

Roscoe had never seen Malcolm Barton, but he 
had a pretty good idea as to his appearance, and 
the man who came from the low lodging house cor- 
responded with that idea. 

“ That is my man,” he muttered, and started 
after him. 

The rain increased in intensity, and, as if to escape . 
from it, the stranger ahead of the detective started 
to run. Night had come on. It was very dark, 


A TERRIBLE EXPERIENCE 1 55 

and it was with difficulty that Roscoe could keep 
his man in sight. 

The river was reached. A schooner was about 
to push out of the docks in spite of the rain. The 
captain stood upon the deck, a black-browed^ surly- 
looking individual, his features being dimly out- 
lined in the light of a lantern which hung amid- 
ship. 

“ — d, you !” he shouted to one of his men 

who was standing on the dock, ready to cast off 
the cable. “ Throw off that rope. I won’t wait 
any longer. ” 

At that moment the man with the valise sprang 
on board. The captain saw him. 

“ I thought you were never going to come,” he 
growled. 

“ I have not been able to get out of the house,” 
replied the dark-clothed man. “ You can start as 
soon as you like now.” 

Roscoe was near enough to overhear this con- 
versation. As quick as thought he sprang on the 
deck, revolver in hand. 

“ Mr. Barton, I believe,” he said, quickly tapping 
the stranger upon the shoulder. The man turned. 
His face was white. 

“ What do you want? ” he muttered. 

“ You,” replied Roscoe, laconically; “ I want you 
for the murder of Kitty Nichols.” 

As quick as a flash. Barton pulled a revolver and 
fired it point blank atthe detective; but his aim was 
not good, and the bullet whistled past Roscoe’s 


ear. 


156 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


“ Ah, treacherous, eh? ” he cried, and threw him- 
self upon the murderer. 

The struggle was a desperate one. The deck 
was as slippery as glass, and the men could not 
keep their feet. Roscoe was by far the more pow- 
erful man of the two, and would have soon over- 
powered his man; but at this juncture the captain 
of the boat saw how matters stood, and, coming up 
behind the detective, struck him a heavy blow in 
the back of the head. 

Roscoe fell without a groan. 

The vessel was out in the stream, drifting toward 
the mouth of the river. 

“ Overboard with him! ” commanded the captain, 
and the next moment the helpless body of the de- 
tective was lifted in the strong arms of two of the 
sailors, and thrown over the side of the vessel, into 
the river. 


CHAPTER XXII. 

HOW ROSCOE WAS SAVED, AND WHAT FOLLOWED. 

As THE body struck the water, and disappeared 
from sight beneath the muddy waves, a small boat 
put out from the shore, and was rowed rapidly 
toward the sinking man. That boat was manned 
by May, the detective, and three comrades. They 
had arrived at the dock in time to see Roscoe strug- 
gling on the deck of the schooner, but had not 
been in time to render him any service, except to 
fish him out of the river, and drag him into the 
boat. While one of the men busied himself in 


HOW ROSCOE WAS SAVED 


157 


bringing the unconscious detective to himself again, 
the other rowed rapidly after the drifting schooner, 
whose lights could be seen not far away. 

“ If we can get to her before she makes the 
mouth of the river, we’ll be all right,” muttered 
May, and in a low tone he encouraged his com- 
panions to extra exertions. In a short time Roscoe 
recovered. The rain, falling down upon his up- 
turned face, had as much to do in his restoration as 
anything else. Opening his eyes, he looked up and 
encountered the anxious gaze of May, who had 
come back to look at him. 

“ How is it, old fellow,” asked May, in a whisper. 

“ My head feels sore,” replied Roscoe. 

“ And no wonder,” remarked the other. “ After 
the blow you got, it is a wonder you’re alive. 
You wouldn’t be, if we had not chanced to be on 
hand;” and May pressed the mesmeric detective to 
try a little brandy from a bottle which he drew 
from his pocket. 

Roscoe did not refuse. The brandy revived him 
wonderfully, and in a few moments he felt almost 
himself again. 

“ Where is the scoundrel? ” he muttered, as soon 
as he felt all right. 

“ Right before us,” answered May, pointing to 
the light of the schooner ahead of them. 

“ Give me an oar,” cried the determined [man. 
“ I will not allow them to escape.” 

He seized an oar, and bent his back to the work. 
May pulling the opposite side. Under the impetus 
thus given it, the boat sped along. The lights on 


158 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


the schooner grew brighter; they were gaining 
upon it. 

“ Stick to it,” whispered Roscoe. “ Five min- 
utes more, and we’ll be up to them.” 

Swish! the oars swept through the water. It 
was as Roscoe said. In five minutes they were 
close to the vessel. 

The schooner was not very high out of the 
water, and the band of detectives had no difficulty 
in climbing on board. In a short time they were 
on the deck. So silently had this been accom- 
plished that the captain did not know of the pres- 
ence of the officers. The first intimation that he 
had of it was the sight of George May, who, 
revolver in hand, swept down upon him, demand- 
ing his surrender. Seeing that it was useless to 
resist, the sullen brute surrendered and was soon 
in irons. The balance of the detectives saw that 
the crew did not attempt treachery, while Roscoe 
ran down the little companion-way in search of 
Malcolm Barton. He met him at the foot of the 
ladder, and covered him with his revolver. 

“ You are my prisoner! ” he cried; and, before 
the astonished man could think of resisting, the 
irons were upon his wrists. Roscoe compelled him 
to mount the steps before him, and soon the dis- 
comfited man was upon the deck, whence he saw 
at a glance how matters stood. 

“ I’ve had a hard time gettingyou,” said Roscoe; 
“ but you’re mine fast enough now.” 

“ Don’t be too sure of that,” replied the mur- 
derer; and, before Roscoe could grasp the mean- 


HOW ROSCOE WAS SAVED 


159 


ing of his words or try to prevent his action, he 
sprang to the side of the vessel and leaped into the 
river. 

“After him!’" shouted the detective. “He is 
ironed and will drown, and justice will be defeated.” 

Two of the men sprang into the small boat 
alongside, and waited for the desperate man to rise 
to the surface. He never rose; at least, they 
never saw him; and so Malcolm Barton eluded 
justice, and answered to God for his crime. 

His body was found the next morning floating 
near Madison street bridge. 

The captain of the schooner was taken to jail, 
tried, and sentenced to six months in the county 
jail. The crew were not punished. 

Jim Brownley was released from custody, and, 
for a long time, was one of George Roscoe’s best 
friends. He was killed in a fight at the Stock 
Yards one year later. 

The work done by the adventurous detective in 
the case gave him a world-wide reputation, and, if 
it had not been for his vacillating disposition, his 
discontented mind, he would have made his mark 
in the world. He had money and fame now, and 
would have shown his good sense by buckling 
right down to his profession; but the demon of 
unrest ruled him, and led him to think of “ fresh 
fields and pastures new,” and so he gave himself 
up to his inclinations, and fell into bad habits. 

If mankind would only let well enough alone, 
how much better so many of us would be. 


i6o 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


CHAPTER XXIII. 

HE FAILS ! 

By and by a new ambition seized George Ros- 
coe. His contact with crooks and thieves had 
made an unfortunate impression on his varying 
mind. He was deeply versed in their ways, knew 
all their tHcks and turnings when in trouble, and 
was equally conversant with all the arts of tracking 
and capturing them. 

His reputation as a private detective — a business 
scowled upon by the law, and conducive to indi- 
vidual demoralization — was assured ; but, while it 
inured to his love of notoriety, it brought little in 
the shape of pecuniary recompense. 

Now, George was just as anxious for wealth as 
when he left college, determined to be rich at any 
cost, and he speedily conceived a plan whereby he 
could enjoy the notoriety of his profession, and, at 
the same time, secure some of the profits and es- 
cape the penalty of crime. 

In other words, he decided to retain his position 
as detective and act in concert with prominent 
crooks. 

He foresaw immense advantages in this combi- 
nation. The agency for which he worked enjoyed 
the patronage of many wealthy corporations, and 
attended to the personal affairs of rich individuals 
who had especial reasons for not intrusting their 
cases to the city detectives. 

Roscoe was acquainted with all the secrets of the 
business, and was himself employed on the most 


HE FAILS 


l6l 

important work. By keeping the crooks informed 
of his movements, and by the preparation of par- 
tial or false reports, he could share in the profits of 
their nefarious acts, be of immense service to the 
criminal fraternity, and wield a powerful influence 
over their future operations. 

His plans were well laid and carefully executed, 
and for several years his financial affairs flourished; 
but the business of the agency began to run down. 
Its patrons were dissatisfied with its work, and in 
some minds the suspicion became firmly grounded 
that such institutions were devised more for gain 
than for the prevention or detection of crime. 

Meanwhile Roscoe became enamored of a dash- 
ing brunette, named Etta Peoples, whose escapades 
were the talk of a certain class in Chicago, and 
whose liaison with George Trussed, the notorious 
gambler, led to that individual’s murder by Mollie 
Trussed, another disreputable woman. 

Etta and George got married, and, whether it 
was owing to the woman’s influence or the natural 
result of matrimonial cares, Roscoe grew reckless 
in his operations, and commenced a more active 
criminal career. 

Certain disclosures compelled him to leave the 
detective agency. He went to Peoria and started 
in business, but in a few months he was convicted 
of forgery and sent to the penitentiary. 

From Joliet he wrote an abject letter to his 
former employers in Chicago, promising to lead a 
clean life in future if they would secure his pardon. 

A Private Detective it 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


162 

Influence was brought to bear on the Governor, 
and Roscoe’s release was secured. 

He returned to Chicago, and re-entered the 
service of the agency, but, instead of reforming, 
again worked in concert with the crooked fraternity 
on the sly. 


CHAPTER XXIV. 

KING OF THE CROOKS. 

In 1879 a number of bold robberies taxed the 
energies and resources of the police department. 
Those crimes were often accompanied with violence, 
and, while numbers of the perpetrators were nab- 
bed, the robbers did not diminish after the arrests. 

Lieutenant John D. Shea, who was on the cen- 
tral detail, worked up a number of the cases in con- 
junction with his partner, the late Detective Keat- 
ing. Shea, who is one of the shrewdest members 
of the force, came to the conclusion that the rob- 
beries were planned by a crook of more than ordi- 
nary ingenuity, who had a large gang of burglars 
working under his instructions. 

This theory received confirmation from the fact 
that most of the fellows arrested, although they 
seemed strangers to the criminal community of 
Chicago, had no difficulty in getting released on bail. 

On New Year’s Eve a grocer named Johnson, who 
had a store on the corner of Van Buren and Aber- 
deen streets, came to the Central Station and 
reported that he had been robbed, and knocked 
almost insensible with a billy. Huge patches of 


KING OF THE CROOKS 


163 

Sticking plaster showed that his head had been 
severely battered, and his story created consider- 
able excitement. 

Just about closing time, he stated, he retired to 
his desk at the rear of the store to count the cash. 
He heard a footstep, and looked up to be confronted 
by a stout-built man of dark complexion, who 
knocked him almost insensible with a billy, grab- 
bed $30 in money and his gold watch, and rushed 
out of the store. 

Mrs. Johnson, who was in a little apartment off 
the rear of the store, heard the commotion. She 
ran out screaming “ police,” and followed the rob- 
ber to the front door. Here she was intercepted 
by another tall man with iron-gray hair and a gray 
mustache, who seized her by the neck and stopped 
her outcry, and, as she fell fainting on the floor, 
gave her a severe kick in the side and fled. 

“ It’s the same gang,” said Detective Shea, to 
whom the case was given; and it’s time they were 
all pinched.” 

Accompanied by his partner, Keating, he went to 
look over the ground of the robbery. Mrs. John- 
son told her experience, and added: 

" The man who grabbed me was taller than you 
are, Mr. Shea — rather a handsome fellow, with 
wavy hair mixed with gray, and a heavy gray 
mustache.” 

This description did not tally with any known 
crook, and the detectives left the store with only this 
slight clue for their guidance. 

As they went out. Shea noticed a man and woman 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


164 

walking west on Van Buren street. When the 
couple reached the corner of Aberdeen the man 
wheeled suddenly, casting a glance over his shoul- 
der at the officers, who were in citizens’ clothes, as 
he did so, and walked rapidly south, the woman 
being a step or two behind. 

That’s a funny movement,” remarked Shea to 
his partner; " I guess I’ll have a look at them.” 

The detective followed the couple on the oppo- 
site side of the street, got a little ahead of them in 
front of a well-lighted store, and then stopped until 
they came up. 

Shea had acted purely on impulse, his curiosity 
being aroused by the strange movements of the 
couple, and he was almost thunderstruck when he 
found the man to tally exactly with the description 
of the fellow who choked Mrs. Johnson. 

The detective tapped the man on the shoulder as 
he passed, and said: 

“ Excuse me, sir, I am a police officer. Have 
you any objection to telling me your name? ” 

“ Certainly not,” promptly responded the stran- 
ger, with a smile; my name is George Roscoe 
Day.” 

“ And your business? ” demanded Shea. 

" Well, I am in the same business as you are 
yourself,” was the smiling reply; “I am a de- 
tective.” 

“ For whom? ” 

“ For the Agency,” and the man put his 

hand in his pocket, and produced a star bearing the 
name of the agency. 


KING OF THE CROOKS 


165 


Shea was half inclined to allow the man to pro- 
but his likeness to the crook who assaulted 
the butcher’s wife bothered him. 

“ Have you any objection to walking to the 
corner of Van Buren with me,” he asked, po- 
litely. 

“What for?” replied the man, gruffly, a scowl 
settling on his handsome features. 

** Merely to have a party look at you.” 

“ I won’t go,’* was the still gruffer response. 

“ Oh! you won’t,” said Shea; “then I shall be 
obliged to compel you! ” 

“ What does this mean! ” cried the woman ex- 
citedly, pulling at her companion’s arm; “ let us 
go, George.” 

Day made a dive for his hip pocket; but the 
officer pounced upon him, and in a twinkling they 
were down on the sidewalk pounding each other 
for dear life. 

Shea finally got his antagonist by the throat, 
took a self-cocking British bulldog from Day’s 
pocket, and shouted for his partner, Keating. 

Keating ran to Shea’s assistance, and between 
them they overpowered the private detective, who 
was quite an athlete and struck tremendous blows 
at his captors. 

They hustled the man to the grocery store, and 
Mrs. Johnson at once recognized him as her assail- 
ant of the previous evening. 

“ You must be mistaken, madam,” said Day, 
haughtily. 

“ I am afraid you are, my dear,” said her hus- 


i66 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


band; “ this gentleman was in the store to-day- 
inquiring about the particulars of the robbery, and 
told me he was a detective. ” 

“That’s the man,” cried Mrs. Johnson, posi- 
tively; “ I could pick him out among ten thou- 
sand.” 

Day was taken to the station and locked up. His 
wife, for such his companion proved to be, was 
shadowed to a house on Van Buren street, near 
Peoria. 

Here several kits of burglars' tools were found, 
including safe-blowing implements, a large quantity 
of giant powder, several self-cocking revolvers of 
large caliber, and a number of ingeniously con- 
trived sand-bags. 


CHAPTER XXV. 

CONCLUSION. 

The arrest of George Roscoe Day, for that was 
the narne he had gone by of late years, caused a 
profound sensation. The man was well known as 
a private detective, and a great many respectable 
citizens came forward to bear witness to his excel- 
lent character, and to volunteer their opinion that 
the officers had made a serious blunder in arresting 
him for complicity in the robbery. 

One of the partners of the detective agency also 
went to Chief Seavey and vouched for the man’s 
character. 

“This gentleman,” he said, “ is in our employ. 


CONCLUSION 167 

It cannot be possible for him to be mixed up in 
such an affair.’* 

And Chief Seavey said to Detective Shea: 

“Look out, John; there will be a terrible hub- 
bub if you have made a mistake.” 

“ All right, chief, ” was Shea’s response. “ I’ll soon 
prove that I’ve got the engineering chief of all the 
recent robberies. ” 

Among the articles found in Day’s rooms was the 
picture of a rough-looking man. Officer Murnane, 
then known as “Grab-all Jim,” recognized this as 
the photograph of a man whom he had seen in 
company with Day two days before the latter’s 
arrest. Murnane traced his man to West Harrison 
street, where he was found in bed, with a loaded 
pistol under his pillow. 

The man gave the name of Christopher Sheridan. 
Grocer Johnson identified him as the fellow who 
grabbed his money and pounded his head with the 
billy. 

The case against George Roscoe Day looked 
very black now, but still his friends did not desert 
him. Every effort was made to secure his release, 
and weaken the evidence against him. 

But nothing could shake Mrs. Johnson, who per- 
sisted, despite all suggestions that she might be mis- 
taken, in declaring that Day was the man who 
almost strangled her. 

Detective Shea worked like a beaver, and un- 
earthed other crooked transactions in which the 
prisoners had been engaged, besides learning much 


i68 


A PRIVATE DETECTIVE 


of the private detective’s history as recounted 
above. 

Day and Sheridan were arraigned in the Criminal 
Court, and State’s Attorney Mills made out a very 
strong case against them. 

“ This man,” he said, pointing to George Roscoe 
Day, “has had a wonderful career. Eminently 
endowed, both by nature and education, to com- 
mand success in any honorable business, he allowed 
the evil side of his nature to overshadow the good. 
Starting’ life as a professor of mesmerism — a pro- 
fession in which he achieved eminent success — he 
became an actor, and was on the fair road to fame 
in that honorable profession. His next occupation 
was that of a government spy, and no one can 
deny that he did the country excellent service in 
exposing the Camp Douglas conspiracy. The 
calling of detective next attracted his versatile 
talents, but, instead of following that avocation to 
its legitimate results, he joined hands with mem- 
bers of the criminal community, and prostituted 
his calling to the commission rather than the de- 
tection of crime. No punishment is too great for 
such a man. He is too dangerous to be at large 
in the community. He deserves and should re- 
ceive the severest penalty known to the law of our 
State for the crime for which he is on trial. ” 

To make matters worse for George Roscoe Day, 
his pal Sheridan turned state’s evidence, and told 
of an alarming category of crimes which he had 
either inspired, or in the results of which he had 
participated. 


CONCLUSION 169 

Day was sentenced to ten years* imprisonment; 
Sheridan got eight years. 

Through the efforts of the private detective’s 
friends, a new trial was secured, and he was let out 
of jail on bail. He took advantage of his liberty to 
skip, leaving his bondsmen to mourn their confi- 
dence in his innocence and honor. 

When last heard of he had resumed his old pro- 
fession of mesmerism under an assumed name, 
and was astonishing the citizens of Texas with 
his wonderful experiments and marvelous gift of the 
gab. 

And George’s white-haired father in the East still 
wonders what became of his handsome son, who de- 
spised trade and went West to win fame and fortune 
by the exercise of his wits, rather than the toil of 
his hands. 


The End. 


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